


Haunted

by Kantayra of Yore (Kantayra)



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-03-01
Updated: 2003-08-31
Packaged: 2017-10-19 04:07:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 33
Words: 115,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/196691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kantayra/pseuds/Kantayra%20of%20Yore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven years ago, Spike fled Sunnydale and his abusive relationship with Buffy. Now, he and still-best-friend Dawn are working together in their own demon hunting agency. However, when they're called out to investigate a chain of supernatural murders at Cascade Mountain Lodge, they discover that Buffy's on the case as well. Will they be able to solve the mystery before they become the next casualties? And what does the solution have to do with the events of seven years ago?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Laura Danvers blinked and shook her head as the man dashed through the entranceway of Cascade Mountain Lodge. For a second she would almost have sworn he was... _smoking?_ in the morning sun.

He seemed fine now, though, as he approached the front desk, and Laura took the time to look him over. Bleached platinum hair, razor-sharp cheekbones, lean muscular body, black leather...and the most haunted look in his eyes... She had expected some sort of cocky swagger as he approached the desk, but instead he seemed meek, unsure...

“Can I help you?” she inquired politely.

There seemed to be a short delay between when she said the words and when he heard them. After the brief pause, he gave her a curt nod. “N-Need a room,” he stuttered in an awkward British accent, shifting from on foot to the other.

“It’s almost six am,” she pointed out, gesturing to the first rays of dawn that were just peeking over the horizon.

He seemed horribly flustered by this, as if he didn’t know what to do. “I-I’m sorry,” he murmured, eyes looking down.

 _Dammit_ , Laura cursed inwardly, _why are the cute ones always nuts?_

“It’s alright,” she quickly reassured him, afraid he was going to break out crying any moment. “You want a room for the day then?”

He nodded meekly, and she noticed for the first time that the hand that seemed to be running through his hair was lingering far too long. Almost like he was covering something up...

“You’re in luck,” she informed him in as friendly a manner as she could manage. “We had an old couple from Kansas check out bright and early this morning...or dark and early, as the case may be,” she joked lightly.

He managed a ghost of a smile, acknowledging her attempt. Under normal circumstances, he would’ve gone for the twenty-something blond in one of his nonexistent heartbeats. She was obviously attracted to him, and a good roll in the hay usually did him wonders. But not now, not after...

“You’re lucky the ski season just ended,” she continued to chatter about inane topics even though his mind had obviously drifted. “Because when the slopes are running, we’re booked solid for – oh my god!”

The concealing hand had fallen downwards as he became more absorbed in his own mental ghosts, revealing the nasty bruise around his eye for the first time.

A wave of nervousness rushed over her at that. He certainly looked the type to be involved in illegal pursuits... “You’re not...in trouble, are you?” she inquired nervously. “Because this is a respectable resort, and—”

“Tripped an’ fell is all,” he hastily reassured her, covering up his eye again, embarrassed.

 _I’ll take domestic abuse for a thousand, Alex_ , Laura grimaced inwardly. _Must’ve been a big, strong guy to leave a bruise that nasty, too. Dammit_ , she lamented, _why are the cute ones always gay?_

“OK,” she gave him a reassuring smile. She reached up to the key rack and pulled down the only set of keys on them. “If you’ll just sign in...” She heard the sounds of pen on paper. “And, I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but if you could just wait here in the lobby while I call Maria and make sure the room’s clean?”

He nodded nervously in response and practically snatched the keys from her hand. His fingers, still cold from the spring Colorado air, brushed against her warmer ones.

She showed no outward reaction to the unnatural chill of his touch and picked up the desk phone while he sat himself down. She bit her lip as she watched his profile. From this angle his bruises weren’t visible, and he looked even more handsome than she had first thought. Absentmindedly, she read his name from the guest book. _William Summers... Dammit_ , she sighed as Maria picked up on the other end, _why are the cute ones always vampires?_  
   
 

The sounds of the desk clerk’s phone conversation faded to nothing as Spike sat slumped in the lobby chair, staring at nothing. He still couldn’t believe it. He had actually left Buffy, packed his only bag, jumped on his motorcycle, and just...gone. Already, the voices in his head were whispering to him, telling him that she needed him, that she cared about him, loved him despite everything...

 _“You’ve an evil, disgusting thing!”_

 _“You’re beneath me.”_

 _“The only chance you ever had with me was when I was unconscious.”_

 _“You were just...convenient.”_

 _“There’s nothing good in you.”_

 _“I could_ never _be your girl!”_

 _“Soulless...”_

 _“Disgusting...”_

 _“Monster!”_

And then it was like everything hit him at once, and a soft sob escaped his throat. It was followed by a second and a third until he buried his head in his hands, wailing out his loss to the world. This was no different from when he’d lost Buffy after she’d leapt off that tower. If anything, she was even further from him now, even further than death...

Because he was nothing. Just a pitiable monster. Of course, she could never love him. What on earth had he been thinking? That a golden goddess like his Slayer could ever look upon an abomination like him with anything other than disgust and loathing...

“Whoa!” Laura’s eyes widened in surprise as her guest suddenly started bawling. “It’s OK, really,” she insisted. “Maria’s fixing up the room right now, honest!”

He didn’t hear her but clutched tighter at the object in his duster pocket, pulling it out so that he could feel its reassuring silk, remember the girl he loved so much...and that loved him, too...  
   
 

 _“You have to go,” Dawn said, still stunned by the story he’d spilled to her in his pain and grief. She gulped at the momentous nature of what she was deciding, but realized that she couldn’t still be his friend and advise otherwise. “She’s killing you, Spike...”_

 _“It doesn’t matter,” he insisted bitterly. “I promised ‘til the end of the world and—”_

 _“No,” Dawn whimpered, tears streaming from her eyes as she looked at the beaten and battered face of her best friend, “you need to leave. Now, before it’s too late.”_

 _“She din’t mean it,” Spike insisted. “She was just mad, an’ I botched everythin’ up again, so—”_

 _“Spike...”_

 _“Was all my fault,” he insisted. “’m not good enough for her is all.”_

 _“You mean_ she’s _not good enough for_ you _!” Dawn countered, enraged. “Why, when I get my hands on that heartless, arrogant bitch!”_

 _“No, Bit,” Spike pleaded with her. “You can’t let her know that I told you. Wasn’t s’posed to tell...”_

 _A cold fire burned in Dawn’s eyes at that, not at all unlike that which burned in the Slayer’s eyes right before a kill. “You need to leave town, Spike,” she said simply. “I need to know that you’re safe.”_

 _“’m not leavin’ you,” he insisted vehemently._

 _“Please, Spike,” her face softened as she begged him. “I can’t bear to see you like this...not after all we’ve been through together...”_

 _A sad smile lit up his lips at that. “Can’t leave you all alone,” he protested slightly, “with her...”_

 _“I’ll be strong,” she insisted. “I’ll deal. Now, go. Save yourself while you still can...”_

 _A bitter laugh escaped him at that. This had to be the only thing that would ever allow him to leave his Slayer. Dawn begging him, still caring about him, absolving him of his responsibilities in Sunnydale..._

 _“Thanks, Bit,” he whispered softly._

 _She smiled at him sadly and untied the ribbon from her hair. She wished she had something more, something better, but she hadn’t known when she snuck out to his crypt that this would be the last time she would see him._

 _“Here,” she pressed the silken fabric into his hand, “to remember me...”_

 _He took it from her gently and then, in an uncharacteristic gesture of affection, caught her up in his arms. “I could never forget you, Dawn,” he whispered._

 _“I love you, Spike,” she uttered the magic words..._  
   
 

“Hey, are you all right?” Laura asked, noticing the guest calm down as he stroked a green ribbon, of all things. “Is there anything I can do?”

He looked up at her at that, fingering the lingering bruise over his eye. Dawn’s impromptu attempt at a healing spell hadn’t been entirely effective, true, but he still treasured it. One Summers broke his heart while the other picked up the pieces...

“’m tired,” he said simply, a hint of the old fire in his eyes.

Laura was slightly breathless at the change in him. He suddenly seemed confident, strong...mesmerizing... “I’ll show you to your room,” she agreed shakily, helping him to his feet and guiding him down the hallway. “If there’s _anything_ —” she began, blushing.

And his lips crashed down on hers. Her eyes widened for a moment before she wrapped her arms around him, staggering back with him into the room.

That morning Spike washed the Slayer’s scent from him with that of another woman for the first time.

But, what neither of them noticed was the mystical reddish glow that seemed to seep up through the carpet, glittering brighter until, suddenly, it vanished...


	2. Breaking Up

_Seven years later..._

“Did you honestly think I wouldn’t find out about _her_?!” Candy’s voice screamed, shattering the quiet of the otherwise peaceful office.

“Sweetness—” Spike’s rough British accent began.

“I don’t even want to hear it!”

There was a loud thump and a crash from the inner office.

Dawn merely sighed and rolled her eyes, as if this were an everyday occurrence. “Check,” she announced, advancing her bishop.

Her opponent practically bounced in her seat, her blond locks flouncing gracefully and her rather ample chest jiggling in that way that turned so many men’s eyes. Her perfectly manicured hand reached out, plucked her rook off of the board, and placed it down right in between Dawn’s bishop and the king.

Dawn frowned. The move seemed quite thoroughly random – the sacrifice of a powerful piece while simultaneously leaving the left flank open – but, then, that was so typically Siggy. Dawn snatched up the rook sacrifice offered. “Check,” she repeated.

Another crash sounded from the back room, followed by an outraged roar.

“You crazy bint!” Spike exclaimed loud enough that all of Manhattan probably heard him.

Siggy winced. “What is it that you think that he has broken this time around?” she asked in a heavy Swedish accent. As always, her grammar was perfect, if a little silted and formal.

Dawn grimaced. “Let’s just hope it’s not another window,” she decided, watching in complete bafflement as Siggy’s knight seemed to be making the same pointless sacrifice as he rook had. Dawn’s own rook slid over to take it.

The other employee at Summers Supernatural Investigations seemed completely unconcerned by this chain of events. Siggy had first encountered Spike in a pub about two years ago, only hours after she’d gotten off of the plane from Stockholm. Given her extreme... _assets_ , going into a pub in a bad neighborhood at one in the morning really hadn’t been a good idea, but then Siggy hadn’t known the area.

The requisite brawl had ensued, resulting in Spike’s victory – as always – and he had promptly decided that his ‘rescuee’ needed a close up and _personal_ tour of the Big Apple.

Dawn could still remember the way her eyes had rolled when Spike first brought the buxom blond back to their apartment. Thoughts like, _Oh no, not_ another _Harmony!_ had popped to mind. Fortunately, Spike spoke German, a language Siggy had been much more skilled in at the time, so they were at least speaking the same _language_. Dawn had known Spike to choose much shadier mistresses in the past four years.

However, it wasn’t until after a somewhat awkward dinner that Dawn’s opinion of the woman had changed. They had been gathered in the living room, sipping wine, when Siggy had abruptly said to Spike out of the blue, “You are very kind for a vampire.”

The requisite spit takes had followed with a round of Telephone Translations as an encore, while Siggy explained her situation to Spike in German, so that he could tell Dawn, in turn, in English. It turned out that a truce had existed between the demon and human populations in Stockholm ever since the previous Master of the city had been rousted and a more ‘unconventional’ one took his place. The situation apparently wasn’t too rare in Europe where Masters retained entire cities in their territory for centuries and so kept their number of minions low in order to reduce the risk of a revolt – both from the human populations and from their ambitious underlings.

Having fully awed the pair of demon hunters, Siggy had even had the commonsense not to sleep with the guy – the _vampire_ guy – she’d just met that night. Instead, she’d left, giving Spike a quick kiss on the lips and a giggled “My hero!”

Dawn had liked the woman from that moment on, even though the subsequent sex after Siggy and Spike’s third date had been loud enough to keep her up for weeks. Plus, it was hard to pick up employees in the demon hunting industry, especially ones that made such great bait...

“That’s it!” Candy’s voice screeched from the back room. “I have had it with you!” The door flew open, and the small blond stalked out furiously, Spike right on her heels.

“Pet...” he pleaded, catching her by the arm.

She turned on him furiously then and slapped him in the face. Of course, the human blow couldn’t hurt him, but he made a show of wincing nonetheless. “You... _asshole_!” Candy exclaimed in a white-hot fury. “You think I’m just going to forgive you?!”

“C’mon now, luv,” Spike cooed softly, looking up at her from under long, dark lashes. “It was just a one-time thing, honest. Just a li’l slip-up...”

“ ‘Little’?” Candy repeated. “Here’s ‘little’ for you! We’re _over_! Done! Goodbye, Spike!” she said angrily before storming out of the office, slamming the door behind her for good measure.

“Oops,” Spike grimaced, sending an apologetic smile Dawn and Siggy’s way. “Sorry you had to hear that, luvs.”

“Trust me,” Dawn snorted. “We’re used to it.” She watched Siggy’s pawn advance and frowned. “Check,” she repeated, moving her knight once more.

“You should not lie to her like that,” Siggy commented. “If you wish to take another woman to your bed—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Spike grumbled, picking up an opened bottle of JD from the top of the mini-fridge, “’eard it a million times before, poodle.” He downed half the bottle in one gulp.

Dawn didn’t comment. It was best just to leave Spike alone when he was in one of _these_ moods. Frankly, she had preferred watching Spike and Siggy’s break-up. Now, _that_ had been priceless.

After several weeks of non-stop shagging, Siggy had calmly sat across from Spike on the couch one day and delivered the most brilliant speech Dawn had ever heard. In fact, she’d memorized it and quoted it often:

“You are a very attractive blood-sucking demon, and I very much appreciate that when you stare at my chest you do not seem to be thinking ‘fuck big tits now’ so much as ‘must erase pain of the past’. I also fully appreciate your many talents in bed and will miss the excellent sexual intercourse very much. However, I feel the need to be something more than a sexual safety-blanket at the moment. Therefore, I feel that we should just be friends and co-workers for now.” Then, she had given his hand a quick squeeze, brushed a kiss across his forehead, and that had been it.

Dawn had done much interrogating in the next few days after that and had gotten a “How the bloody ‘ell was I s’posed to argue with that?” from Spike and a “It seems futile to try to win his heart, therefore I mean to analyze it instead” from Siggy. Apparently, she took her given name’s etymology – Sigrid: ‘victorious counselor’ – very seriously.

And it seemed to have been the smart track to take since Siggy was now the only other person Spike opened up to, although she was still nowhere as close to the vampire as Dawn was...

“Checkmate.”

Dawn was pulled out of her reverie and stared down at the chessboard in confusion. “Huh?” she said in disbelief.

“That is, I believe, checkmate?” Siggy repeated.

Dawn blinked, cocked her head to one side, stared at the board...blinked again, looked closer...

“She’s got you, Platelet,” Spike agreed with a chuckle.

“But...” Dawn began in protest, “...damn,” she conceded her defeat.

Oh yeah, had she forgotten to mention that? In addition to being gorgeous, demon-savvy, and a brilliant analyst of both the human and vampire psyche, Siggy was also a certified genius. If Dawn hadn’t liked the other woman so much, she would have been decidedly jealous.

Having observed this streak in her, Spike had sat her down one day while Siggy was out on assignment and had matter-of-factly informed her, “You’re smart, street-wise, a brilliant pickpocket, the best friend ‘ve ever had, and unbelievably beautiful, Bit. If you weren’t like my li’l sis, ‘d shag you in a heartbeat. So, no need to feel jealous, huh?”

They jury had been out for a while on whether that speech was sweet or creepy, but the first had finally won out. After all, this was Spike.

And, at the moment, her bizarrely sweet vampiric surrogate big bother was staring into the bottom of the empty beer bottle, frowning at the dead roach inside. “Uh...how long was this thing left out?” he asked warily.

Dawn and Siggy both wrinkled their noses in disgust.

“Don’t ask me,” Dawn retorted. “I refuse to keep track of your messes.”

Spike gave her a mock-scowl at that and tossed the empty bottle into the trash...despite the fact that the recycling was only five feet further to the right. “’m goin’ out,” he announced, snatching his duster from the coat-rack, “get me some roach-free stuff.”

“And you are expecting to find the roach-free liquor at Jimmy’s?” Siggy couldn’t help but tease.

He rolled his eyes heavenwards, muttered something about “bloody women” under his breath, and headed for the door.

“Wait!” Dawn’s voice halted him. “Don’t you want to hear about our new case?”

“Do I hafta kill anythin’ tonight?” he inquired, scarred eyebrow raised.

“No...” Dawn conceded.

“Then you can tell me tomorrow,” he decided, leaving the office in a flurry of black leather.

“I swear, sometimes...” Dawn clutched her hands in a strangling gesture.

“You are searching for the word ‘pig’, perhaps?” Siggy joked lightly.

Dawn smiled at the blond. “It looks like it’s up to us to do all the work,” she sighed, getting up, pulling the roach-infested bottle from the trash, and placing it in the recycling with a grimace of disgust. “As always.”

“Will you be wanting me to research this...” Siggy glanced down at her notepad, “Cascade Mountain Lodge at the library?”

Dawn nodded. “Pull up all the death records from the nearby town as well,” she instructed. “Whatever this is, it might not just be localized at the inn.”

Siggy nodded. “It is time to change into my skimpy ‘surely, you do not _really_ need me to fill out all that paperwork to read this file?’ dress,” she said with a wink before exiting the office as well.

“Which leaves me,” Dawn sighed, “to clean up the mess ‘Spike break-up number fifty-three’ left behind...”

* * *

Dawn had been furious when she’d gone to bed. Spike hadn’t reported in that entire day, and – while it had been cloudy and snowy during the daylight hours – it still made her nervous when the sun was up and he was out. As a result, she’d been trapped in the office all day, taking care of routine business because Spike wasn’t there to do his bloody job. Siggy, at least, had come in later that evening, files and folders all clearly labeled and a summary of her findings written in a concise, neatly-typed report.

It had been closing time then, and Dawn had locked up the office, Siggy’s research in hand, and gone up to the apartment she and Spike shared above the office space. She’d set out the files on her desk and read while she waited for him to come home...and waited...and waited...

By two am, she’d practically _memorized_ all the police reports she’d gone over them so many times, and Spike _still_ hadn’t come home. So she was pissed. Add to that the fact that he had been acting like an ass that afternoon, and she was practically searching for some sharp pointy wood by the time she turned in.

However, one look at his gaunt, haunted features as he stood in the doorway, shivering convulsively, evaporated her anger immediately.

“C’mere,” she whispered softly, holding up the corner of the blanket for him.

Gratefully, he slipped under the covers beside her, teeth chattering as he wrapped himself around her body. “’m so cold, Dawn,” he whispered against her throat.

“Shh,” she agreed, stroking his hair, “I know.”

He let out a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob. “I feel so ridiculous,” he complained. “’m a _vampire_. I don’t feel the cold!”

“I like to think of you more as a big, cuddly stuffed animal,” Dawn teased, wrapping her arms around him, “with fangs.”

He chuckled slightly at that, his shivers passing as her body warmed his up. “Damn,” he sighed, “I know the cold’s just in my head...so why can’t I just make it stop?”

Dawn shrugged. “Doesn’t work that way,” she said simply. “I was worried about you,” she added more softly.

He smiled against the curve of her throat at that. “’ll always come back to you, Nibblet,” he promised her. “You know that.”

“Yeah,” she agreed softly, gently stroking his peroxide locks, “what would you do without me?”

“Wither and die.” He said it as a jest, but something in his tone indicated that it was the honest truth.

“Don’t say that,” she admonished, placing an affectionate kiss of the top of his head. “You’re the only family I’ve got now. I can’t lose you, too...”

“You won’t, Bit,” he swore. “As long as you need me...”

“That’ll be forever,” she informed him matter-of-factly.

A deep vibration rose in his chest at that, and she snuggled against him further. If she had to have a needy vampire roommate who needed to be held at night, at least she had one that _purred_. It was very nice, very relaxing.

She wondered for a minute whether he had ever purred for Buffy and then banished the thought to the back of her mind. Her sister was a part of her past she had long since abandoned, and she refused to let such thoughts interfere with the treat that was Spike purring.

“Can I?” he requested shyly.

She nodded and tilted her head to one side, hissing as she felt the bones in his face shift and the sharp points of his fangs graze her throat.

“Would never hurt you,” he purred.

“I know,” she held his head to her neck, breathing heavily. Maybe it was because she was a Slayer’s sister, but a warning tingle always ran down her spine when a vampire’s fangs got this close to her.

He didn’t bite, though, just gently nicked the skin enough to get one drop of blood. “Mine,” he whispered.

“Yours,” she agreed for the umpteenth time since he had first marked her. It was a sign of possession, she knew, but that wasn’t what it meant for them. It was a mark of protection, affection, love – the only love he allowed himself to admit anymore.

“I love you,” Dawn whispered, rolling with him as he moved to lie on his back, her head pillowing on his bare chest.

She often thought that was grossly unfair to all the men she dated that she’d grown up thinking of Spike’s body as the ‘typical’ male build. But, hey, it wasn’t her fault her male role model had a body that would put a vast majority of professional male models to shame. At least he always had the decency to put on a pair of sweatpants before he joined her, or she was sure all her potential beaus would have yet another standard they couldn’t match up to. Not to mention, it would be way kinky.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered then, stroking her hair.

“Don’t be,” she insisted. “You know I’ll always be there for you.”

He nodded slightly, and the two of them just lay there together for a while, savoring the other’s presence.

“We’ve got an assignment,” Dawn finally commented, breaking the comfortable silence between them.

“Yeah, I dimly recall that,” he agreed with a sheepish smile, “before my stalkin’ off to get drunk, that is...”

Dawn sniffed the air. “You don’t smell like you’ve been drinking,” she observed.

“Showered,” he admitted guiltily.

Dawn sighed. “Did you even know this one’s name?” she inquired.

“’Course, I did!” Spike insisted. “It was Sara...or Kara...maybe Karen...”

“Spike...”

“Yeah, I know, ‘if you weren’t dead, I’d give you a lecture about STDs’,” he did a terrible imitation of her voice.

Dawn couldn’t help but smile at that. “Just make sure you take care of yourself,” she insisted. “I don’t want some crazed, jealous bimbo staking you.”

“Won’t happen,” he assured her.

“You’re sure?”

“Sure.”

“You’re careful?”

“Completely.” Spike was lying through his teeth, and they both knew it. “Now, what’s this new assignment of yours?” he not-so-subtly changed the subject.

Dawn let him get away with it for the moment. “How would you like,” she began, taking his hand, “to go on a vacation with me? Ski resort up in the mountains, cozy lodge—”

“Annoyin’ ski-bunny tourists for lunch?” he teased.

Dawn whapped him in the arm. “You might get to kill something mean and nasty...” she sing-songed, holding that tantalizing morsel out for him.

“Mmm, can hardly wait,” he agreed. “What’s the deal?”

“Fifty thousand.”

“Dollars?!” Spike exclaimed, eyes wide. “’d kill the entire place for that. What’s the nasty?”

Dawn sighed. “There’ve been five deaths at the lodge this season alone, all attributed to ‘accidents’.”

“An’ this calls for a supernatural detective agency, how?” Spike inquired.

Dawn bit her lip. “There’ve been a series of paranormal events,” she explained, “poltergeist activity, disturbed psychics – _real_ , Witch’s Guild psychics, possessions...”

“Sounds like some soft ‘f ghost,” Spike pouted. “Can’t kill somethin’ that’s already dead, luv...at least, not that’s non-corporeal and dead,” he amended.

Dawn nodded in agreement. “That’s what I thought, too, at first,” she admitted.

“ ‘At first’,” he repeated, one eyebrow raised curiously.

“Before I looked through the historical records,” she clarified. “Spike, this happened before, fifty years ago.”

“So, the spook’s back for an encore,” he shrugged.

“At the end,” Dawn began, “several of the corpses were found mangled beyond recognition. And,” she paused for emphasis, “they weren’t murdered within the inn itself. Some of them made it halfway across the country. Whatever this is, it tracked those people down and killed them.”

“Which means it couldn’t’ve been confined to the inn,” Spike frowned.

“Which means no ghost,” Dawn agreed.

“Not ‘f the conventional sort at least,” Spike added thoughtfully.

Dawn nodded.

“But what stopped it before?” Spike asked. “And why would it return to it’s old huntin’ grounds?”

“That’s what we’ve got to find out,” Dawn agreed before burying her head in his chest and closing her eyes. “Tomorrow...”


	3. The Ones Left Behind

“Buffy,” Nathan said with a distant smile, watching the blond sit across from him in the small diner, “you’re late.”

“Yeah, well,” she hedged, “I got caught up at work, y’know. Ms. Perkins can be a real slave-driver.” _As can those nasty Hashir Demons that’ve been terrorizing Spi—er,_ Shady Hill _Cemetery lately..._ “You’re lucky you got me at all,” she finished with a perky smile.

Nathan didn’t look impressed. “I’m sorry to have inconvenienced you,” he commented bitterly into his coffee.

“No,” Buffy instantly denied it, “I’m not inconvenienced, really. I’ve just had a lot of work to do and—”

“At the _Administration Office_?” Nathan asked in disbelief. “The place was only open ‘til noon today. I’m not stupid.”

“No, of course not, not stupid,” she agreed, mildly panicked now.

“Buffy,” Nathan’s pained eyes looked into hers, “if there’s someone else, I want to know.”

“Someone else?” she let out a humorless laugh. “Of course there’s no one else.” _Isn’t there?_ that naughty voice in the back of her mind couldn’t help from asking.

“Then, I don’t get it!” Nathan exclaimed, banging the table with his fist. “You act like you’re interested, like you like me, and then all of a sudden...you’re so distant. I feel like I don’t know you anymore, like I never did.”

 _That’s because you didn’t. Only one person’s ever known me, and I can never be with him..._

“I-I’ve just been really busy lately,” she insisted, wide-eyed.

“You’re right,” Nathan nodded. “You’ve been too busy, too busy for me, at least.”

“No, I’m really not,” Buffy pleaded. “I’ve got the next two weeks off. We can get together this weekend, and—”

“Buffy, no,” Nathan said tiredly. “I’ve heard this all before, and I don’t think I can go through with it again.”

She sat there, stunned. “B-But, then...what do you want me to do?” she asked weakly.

“Nothing. I think,” Nathan sighed, “that this isn’t working out.”

“What do you mean, not working?” Buffy entered nervous babble mode. “It can work. We’ll make it work.” She reached for his hand.

Reluctantly, he pulled it away. “I’m sorry, Buffy,” he said, getting up, “but I think we both need some time and some space. I know I do. Good luck,” he added, and then he was gone.

Buffy blinked blankly at the table a few times before the waitress approached her table. “Coffee,” she managed to say numbly before she buried her head in her hands and said the one name that always came to her in these circumstances.

“Angel...”

* * *

“So, he dumped you,” Anya shrugged, sipping at her martini. “It’s not like you even liked him that much in the first place.”

“Some Vengeance Demon _you_ are,” Buffy pouted. “Shouldn’t you be trying to get me to make some nasty wish concerning his balls right about now?”

Anya shrugged. “It’s no fun when the wisher’s heart isn’t in it,” she replied simply.

Buffy sighed. “OK, so maybe I never really liked him that much,” she conceded, “but at least he was better than Ryan...”

Anya cringed at the name of Buffy’s ex-husband. “Now, _there’s_ a man I wouldn’t mind doing some vengeance on,” she commented. “Why you ever agreed to marry him is beyond me.”

“I was all confused after the Angel thing, part two,” Buffy admitted. “And needy. I wanted someone who would take care of me.”

“Which, of course, meant you had to marry a domineering, ‘women in the kitchen’ bastard,” Anya exclaimed, still enraged. “I mean, what was that?”

“Me caving in and realizing that I’d never be happy?” Buffy suggested.

“There’s a difference between being constantly miserable and not being happy,” Anya scolded.

“Yeah,” Buffy sighed, thinking wistfully of her lost love.

Anya frowned in response. “You don’t blame Angel nearly enough for how much he messed up your life. There’s someone else I wouldn’t mind doing a spot of vengeance on,” she announced, draining the last of her drink.

“Oh, let Angel get on with his new life,” Buffy said bitterly. “After all he’s been through, he deserves it.”

“You’re too forgiving,” Anya decided. “You blame everything on yourself, when—”

“This _is_ my fault,” Buffy insisted. “I made my bed. Now I have to lie in it.”

“God, don’t you ever get tired of being a martyr?” Anya rolled her eyes.

Buffy cast her an annoyed look.

“What?” Anya protested. “I’m sure he’d agree with me.”

“I’m not going to ever find anyone who can replaced him,” Buffy insisted, hating herself for getting into this argument again but not being able to help herself.

“You don’t replace people,” Anya rolled her eyes. “You just move on.”

“From your _soulmate_?” Buffy protested.

Anya groaned. “Right, like I haven’t heard _that_ one before...”

“This is different from you and Xander,” Buffy insisted. “You don’t understand. He was the only one who ever really understood me, who accepted me for what I am, who knew the _real_ me.”

“And I felt the exact same way with Xander,” Anya countered, “but it didn’t stop him from leaving me at the altar.”

Buffy sighed. “Can we just not argue about this?” she requested. “We haven’t seen each other for weeks. I’m sure we have other things to discuss.”

“You’re the one who brought up exes,” Anya pointed out, “what with your new one and all.”

Buffy ignored the comment. “So, where’d you go off to this time?” she changed the topic of conversation.

“Demon dimension two worlds over and three up,” Anya reminisced. “They have these things there – like giant catfish but inside-out and covered with defensive parasols. It was a great time...if you discount the large, somewhat stern Jack-In-The-Box junipers...”

“Uh-huh,” Buffy looked at the Vengeance Demon like she was nuts. “So, vengeance served?”

“I’m back on call, amn’t I?” Anya answered before frowning. “And you shouldn’t ask me that. It’s strange and somewhat alarming, like you’re going to slay me or something.”

“What part of ‘retired’ don’t you understand?” Buffy assured her.

“The part where you still go out and kill things every night,” Anya answered readily enough.

“Anya,” Buffy informed her sternly, “you’re the only one of the Scoobies left. There’s no way I’m going to slay you.”

“Not even if I staked your ‘soulmate’?” Anya just couldn’t leave that scab unpicked.

“Anya...” Buffy warned.

“Right,” Anya agreed perkily. “So what have you been doing...being here and all...”

“Work, getting dumped, slayage,” Buffy sighed. “That pretty much covers it.”

“How...interesting...”

Anya was trying, she really was. Buffy had to give her that much. In the days right after the Hellmouth was closed for good, neither of them had really bothered to be civil to each other. Which, Buffy supposed, was reasonable given how shattered the experience had left both of them.

To this day, she could still hear the screams, echoing throughout the ruins of the old high-school as the Hellmouth was finally sealed with its last sacrifice...

“You’re remembering again,” Anya said with a kindness in her voice that Buffy had never noticed prior to The End.

“I am,” Buffy sighed. “I just wish...” That night she had gone back to the empty crypt, hoping against all hope that Spike would be back, that he would heal her like he had after she’d come back from the grave. Hell, that he would just _hold_ her again, take her into his arms, tell her that he loved her...

“Yes?” Anya’s ears had perked up at the sound of those potent words.

“Nothing,” Buffy caught herself in time. “No wishing here.”

Anya pouted. “You’re no fun,” she complained.

“Just keep the vengeance confined to the demon dimensions, and I won’t get any _less_ fun,” Buffy countered.

“See? There you go with the threatening slayage again! I think your latest ex, Brad...or, er, Brad...” Anya paused, frowning as she tried to remember the inconsequential name.

“ _Nathan_ ,” Buffy reminded her.

“Whatever...was right,” Anya finished. “You are working too hard.” She shifted her shoulders uncomfortably. “You’re getting all slay-happy again. It’s like after—” She cut herself off when she realized where that train of thought was going.

Buffy let it slide. “Y’know,” she thought aloud, “maybe you’re right. I _do_ have two weeks vacation coming up, and there _is_ this ski lodge—”

“See, there you go.”

“—that’s having a demon problem. I _was_ going to advise them to go elsewhere for help, but...”

Anya sighed. “What part of ‘vacation’ don’t you understand? You’re supposed to have fun, not kill things.”

“But killing things is what I _do_ for fun,” Buffy insisted.

Anya mock-scowled at her. “It sounds pretty fishy to me...and not inverted-catfish fishy.”

“Huh?” Buffy blinked before shaking her head. “And this from someone who writes off all of her inter-dimensional traveling expenses as business trips?” she pointed out.

“Those salamanders were vital for inventory,” Anya insisted. “And they just don’t grow like that in this dimension.”

“Uh-huh.” Buffy was lost again.

“Although,” Anya said thoughtfully, “I suppose a working vacation is better than no vacation at all...unless it’s to the former Hellmouth. You do realize that I still get complaints about you slaying demon tourists, right?”

“He was engulfing a six-year-old in cytoplasm!” Buffy protested.

“I still say you would make a lot more money if you just posed for the pictures instead,” Anya continued to rattle on. “Just think! A former Vampire Slayer on a former Hellmouth. We can charge ten bucks a shot. I could manage, of course, order some merchandise – t-shirts, coffee mugs, those little things with the bobble heads and the eyes that move around...”

“I’m not posing for demon family albums,” Buffy insisted for the umpteenth time.

Anya shrugged. “Your loss...or, actually, mine as well, but you’re all morbid and moody, so I won’t complain.”

“I am _not_ —!” Buffy began but was cut off by the sound of an inter-dimensional beeper playing the tune of ‘I’ll Fly Away’.

“This was _supposed_ to be my night _off_!” Anya exclaimed in irritation before turning back to Buffy apologetically. “Sorry to cut and run, but duty calls.”

“It’s all right,” Buffy assured her. “We’ll have to do this again...”

“Soon,” Anya promised with a wave before vanishing in a white light.

Buffy sighed and looked at the empty space across from her, the straw in Anya’s glass still vibrating slightly from where Anya had just dropped it. The Vengeance Demon had only been gone a minute, and already Buffy felt the loneliness creep back into her. She was used to it now, though.

The _real_ challenge had been the Year Of Hell. So many people gone from her life in such rapid succession: Giles, Spike, Tara, Xander, Willow, Dawn...

This last one was the only one she could really do anything about, but ever since Dawn had fled her custody she’d been implacable about reconciling. And once Dawn hit eighteen, it had been impossible. Buffy had recently managed to get a phone number somewhere in New York, but Dawn hadn’t returned her calls.

Not that Buffy could blame her after all that had happened...

But now, when she was alone, sitting in the dark of the Bronze, she felt the effects the most. Despite Anya’s reassurances, she had pushed people away, and now she was stuck with the aftermath.

The band on stage shifted to a heavily rhythmic number, the bass pulsing through the darkened club, making the whole place vibrate with the vitality of youth. It made Buffy feel like a dinosaur.

A little-known side-effect of Slayer healing had slowed down her aging process – although she doubted many Slayers lived long enough to find out about it. Probably none. But it made her look not much older than the kids here. However, she still felt her age in every muscle of her tired body and in her tired heart most of all. She’d seen more than any of these kids would see in their entire lives.

Plus, it just sucked to think that she was probably the oldest person in this place...

 _Time to reclaim my youth..._

She got up and headed for the dance floor, scanning the crowd, searching, searching... A smile lit up her face as she watched the line of one man’s back. He was just her type, good height, good build, carried himself right.

He turned then, and she got a look at his face. Good, he was part of the older crowd, college or graduate school age. She didn’t care how youthful she looked; the idea of picking up high-school students gave her the creeps. Cute Guy’s face was disappointing, of course, but then she could never have what she wanted.

He watched her approach with obvious interest, a smile brightening his face.

“Hi, cutie,” Buffy said confidently, coming to a halt in front of him.

“Hi, yourself.”

OK, so his voice was blah. Definitely no tingles going down her spine. But she didn’t plan on doing much talking anyway, so that was all right.

“Wanna dance?” she inquired coquettishly.

“Sure,” he agreed, extending his hand to her.

She took it and followed him out onto the floor. Strobe lights flashed around them as Buffy wrapped her arms about his waist, molding her body to his. Their hips began gyrating slowly, moving to the sensual beat.

“You got a name?” he had to practically shout over the usual Bronze racket.

“Buffy,” she informed him. “You?”

“Tyler.”

A blah name, too. Nothing wrong with it, of course, but it wasn’t the sort of name that drew you in, intrigued you, made you want to learn more...

Fortunately, the racket on the dance floor halted any further conversation at the moment. The place was packed tonight, and they wouldn’t even have been able to hear the music were it not for the deep bass that vibrated through the floor in time with the beat.

Buffy turned her back to her dancing partner, grinding her hips back against his, closing her eyes against the prisma-colored flashing lights above the floor. Blinded, her other senses just became that more intense.

She’d made a good match with the build, she decided. She didn’t usually allow herself to indulge like this. Generally, she chose guys that weren’t anything like him, a way to break free of the past that haunted her every day. But, now, rejected by the ‘normal’ human guy once more, she just wanted a fraction of the old fire back, just a taste of what it had been like with him. And, really, what harm could it do just to pretend for a little while?

If she didn’t think about it, she could almost make herself believe it was _him_ , that his hands were gripping her hips, that it was his hair her hands were running through.

A pause in the beat, a breath of quiet slipping through the normal chatter of the crowd, and a name slipped past her lips.

“Spike...”

Unfortunately, her partner heard it and halted his motions.

She turned to face him apologetically then, suddenly noticing all the telltale flaws in his appearance. Hair blond, but not shocking white. Leather jacket short and trendy, not long and battle-worn. Too soft cheekbones, too pale eyes, too straight lips. All in all, not Spike, not even close...

“I-I’m sorry,” Buffy mumbled, brushing past him and off of the dance floor, dashing out of the club, home, tears streaming down her face.

* * *

The next morning she got up, reaffirmed her decision, and reached for the phone.

“Hello, Ms. Danvers?” she said into the receiver. “This is Buffy Summers. I just wanted to let you know that, yes, I can help you with your problem. I’ll arrive this Sunday as we discussed.”

She hung up the phone after she’d left the message and stared into the small treasure box she kept on the shelf next to her bed.

Anya was right. She needed to get out of Sunnydale for a while, take a break from her normal routine, and escape all the ghosts of the past that lingered here. Most of all, what she needed to escape was the memory of _him_ , battered and bloody, looking up at her with such heartbreak and betrayal, the image that haunted her every night when she closed her eyes...


	4. Near Misses

Dawn flicked on the turn signal in her beaten old Chevy and turned off of the highway at the exit to Black Hills Falls. The head that lay beside her on the seat stirred in response, and the deathly still body of her partner finally showed signs of life.

With a lion-sized yawn, Spike finally fully returned to the land of the unliving. He smacked his lips a couple of times, ran a hand through his spiky platinum hair, and wearily sat up once more.

“Are we there yet?” he asked for the umpteenth time, sounding for all the world like an impatient six-year-old on his way to Disneyland.

Dawn grinned at the image that thought invoked. “We’re at the town,” she agreed. “I wanna stop for gas before we head up to the lodge, though.” She cast a sly look Spike’s way. “Y’know, if you hadn’t made us take this gas-guzzler, we’d be there already.”

Spike’s eyes widened in horror. “My Baby will _never_ be driven in snow!” he said, terrified for the health of the ’91 BMW he’d managed to acquire in mint condition at dirt-cheap price.

Dawn merely chuckled and rolled her eyes. She could still remember the evening when Spike had excitedly dragged her out of the office, puffed up as proudly as a peacock, and patted the black hood of his recent acquisition. Dawn acknowledged that it was a _nice_ car, but Spike’s pampering of it verged on comical at times. Although, given that the New York winters had rusted out her own car to the point where she was afraid to _wash_ it lest the body fall apart, maybe he did have a point.

“Don’t worry,” she assured him, patting his hand condescendingly. “Your Baby’s safe in the garage where I can’t get my evil hands on it.”

Spike humphed at her casual disregard for such a lovely vehicle and sulked even more when the gas station they pulled into didn’t have opaque overhead protection that would allow him to leave the vehicle. A bit of magic added to the tinted windows made the Chevy itself safe for flammable vamps while looking perfectly normal.

“You want anything?” Dawn inquired, getting out of the car.

“Coffee,” Spike groaned, “and those chips that have all the different flavors mixed together.”

“Excess caffeine and combo snack foods for the vamp who can’t decide,” Dawn grinned. “Got it. Try not to burn up in the sun.” With that, she slammed the door and moved to pump the gas.

Spike shifted about in the front seat uncomfortably. Long car trips always made him edgy. He needed room to stretch out and some way to release all the pent up energy that accumulated within him during the day. He greatly pitied Dawn for the ultra-hyperactive vampire she was going to have to put up with that evening.

He heard the sound of the gas pump shutting off outside and impatiently watched Dawn head for the building. His foot was tapping out a rapid staccato on the floor, and his fingers were twitching, and…dammit. He couldn’t do a sodding thing about it. There was only one solution for this type of problem – try to sleep some more and hope that it’d be sunset by the time he woke up.

He flopped back down lengthwise across the front seat just as a blue SUV pulled up to the pump across from him…

* * *

Buffy let out a sigh of irritation as she pulled the blue SUV she’d rented into the gas station. She didn’t need the gas – although she undoubtedly would if she didn’t stop winding through all those mountain roads, lost – but there was nowhere else at the station to park.

Angrily, she slammed door of her vehicle shut and stalked into the building. “Cascade Mountain Lodge,” she asked the young Asian woman at the cash register. “Where is it?”

“You just have to take 35 straight down to Highway E,” she began. “Then—”

“June?” the voice of one of the other station attendants shouted out.

“Just a second,” she gave Buffy an apologetic smile. “I’m with a customer, Stan!” she called out to the back of the store in irritation.

“Are we out of those combo chip bags?” Stan called back.

“If there aren’t any on the shelf, then, yes, we’re out!” She rolled her eyes at her coworker’s incompetence.

Buffy gave her a sympathetic smile.

“You turn right and take Highway E north for about a mile,” she continued her directions, “and then you turn left onto Cascade Mountain road. It’ll be the first left turn, but you’ll have to watch out for it because the sign’s down.”

“Hence, why I could find it,” Buffy said in realization. “Thanks,” she added with a smile. “And, where’s your bathroom?”

The cashier dug around in a drawer behind the counter and pulled out a wooden block with ‘WOMEN’ written on it in blue permanent marker, a shiny gold key attached to the end. “It’s right at the end of the beverage aisle,” she pointed.

“Thanks,” Buffy repeated, taking the key and heading for the restroom.

* * *

A Key of a different sort stood one aisle over, debating her purchase. Spike may have been a hundred-year-old immortal being, but he was mighty particular about his snack foods.

 _What the hell?_ Dawn shrugged, picking up a bag of each of the individual components of Spike’s favorite junky combo. _We’ll probably need some extra munchies in the hotel room, anyway…_ She drew the line at mixing them all together for him, though. After all, she wasn’t his mommy.

She turned into the beverage aisle just as the door to the women’s room shut in front of her. Paying it no mind, she quickly picked up a bottle of Evian water for herself and poured a cup of decaf – Spike was hyper enough as it was, and while he _claimed_ that he could taste the difference between decaf and normal coffee, his taste buds weren’t actually sensitive enough to tell the difference, and Dawn knew it.

Satisfied with her purchases, Dawn approached the counter.

“This it?” June asked.

“And pump number six,” Dawn agreed. “By the way, do you know the route to Cascade Mountain Lodge?”

June wondered if they should just hand out little instruction placards…

* * *

Buffy shuddered as she wiped her hands dry on a course white paper towel. Gas station restrooms were always the nastiest places. This one had at least been roach-free, but the powdery cracks in the walls left little doubt that the persistent buggers inhabited the room when no one was looking.

The message written on the door of the stall in the precise black ink of the true graffiti artist, proclaiming ‘The rat queen lives!’ was even less encouraging. She once again cursed the elusive lodge whose restrooms would undoubtedly have been much cleaner.

She approached the counter just as a woman, clad all in black and hefting a rather large brown bag stepped out the door. “Thanks a lot,” Buffy said once more to the cashier as the other woman’s exit set off the tinkling of the door chimes.

“Don’t mention it,” June agreed with a smile, returning the key to its drawer.

Buffy escaped the gloomy little station and headed back to her rental vehicle, pausing only briefly to shake her head at the rusted out Chevy parked across from her. _At least I’m not stuck driving_ that, she consoled herself before hopping into the blue SUV and driving off.

* * *

“Dammit, Spike!” Dawn exclaimed in irritation, searching around on the floor of the vehicle together with her frustrating friend. “How do you ‘lose’ a lit cigarette?”

“You threw the pretzels right at my head!” Spike retorted, feeling around under his seat.

“Only because _you_ were smoking with the window closed,” Dawn defended herself.

“You want me to burn alive?”

“You couldn’t wait five minutes?”

“’ll have you know that—ow!” Spike whapped his smoking hand against the seat several times, extinguishing the flame that had singed it.

Dawn calmly reached down, found the cigarette, and tossed it out the door. “You are _so_ hopeless,” she announced, turning her keys in the ignition.

Just as her car started, there was a huge squeal of tires on slick pavement.

“I didn’t do it!” Dawn leapt back from the steering wheel as it had just sprouted eyeballs.

“No, genius up there did it,” Spike commented, sipping his coffee. “’ave I lectured you lately about SUVs?” he inquired innocently.

Dawn merely groaned. “Only about a thousand times,” she whined, heading out of the parking lot.

“Well, ‘s true,” Spike countered. “I mean, look at the size ‘f that thing.” He gestured to the blue vehicle in front of them. “The only reason anythin’ needs to be that big ‘s to run other innocent drivers off the road. And for what? To protect some yuppie rugrats who’re prob’ly better off as lunch. An’ the bint obviously ‘as no clue how to drive.”

“As opposed to you,” Dawn teased, “who would _never_ get caught in a police chase because you were going fifty the wrong way down a one-way street.”

“I was chasin’ a were-cheetah!” Spike insisted, wide-eyed. “An’ there was no danger. I have excellent reflexes.”

Dawn merely rolled her eyes.

* * *

Buffy glanced back in the rear-view mirror to see a woman with brown hair and dark sunglasses who seemed to be arguing with the thin air beside her.

 _Crazies_ , Buffy her head. _And from New York, too._ She checked the license plate. _No wonder…_

For a moment, a second alternative crossed her mind, but she shook her head. “Nah…”

* * *

“Call Siggy,” Dawn ordered, “and see if she’s gotten any info from the Council yet.”

“’m not your bleedin’ secretary,” Spike crossed his arms over his chest defiantly. “ _You_ do it.”

“Hello, I’m _driving_ ,” Dawn pointed out.

“That’s never stopped you before,” Spike grumbled under his breath.

Dawn sighed. A day cramped up in a vehicle with Spike. It had to be somewhere on her list of top-ten most infuriating things to do. “Just do it,” she said wearily.

“Who d’you think you are, orderin’ me around?” Spike sulked.

“Your _boss_ , for one,” Dawn felt obliged to point out.

Spike muttered a bit but picked up the cell-phone and dialed Siggy’s number. “Hey, li’l lamb,” he said in a husky voice into the receiver. “’S the big bad wolf.”

Dawn snickered.

Spike cast her a dirty look before something Siggy said caught his attention. “Uh-huh,” he nodded. “Uh-huh…Uh-huh…I see…Uh-huh…”

Dawn was convinced he was making his end of the conversation as cryptic as possible just to tick her off. That was the part of the Spike-as-brother analogy that always worked best – he was damn good at annoying her.

She continued to listen to Spike’s vague affirmatives and occasional bizarre pet names, heading down the highway in search of their turn-off. There was a brief incident where the blue SUV in front of them suddenly hit the brakes before diving down a side road, but Dawn merely cursed and swerved before continuing on their way.

“Ta then, luv.” Spike blew a kiss into the phone before he hung up.

“Well?” Dawn asked curiously.

“She’s still searchin’ for a lonely, horny British male to get her into the Watcher’s archives,” Spike explained.

“Huh,” Dawn said with a wicked grin. “I guess you don’t fit the ‘get into the archives’ part. Too bad, ‘cause otherwise it’s a perfect description of you.”

Spike merely huffed and frowned at the highway intersection up ahead. “Oi, you’ve gone too far,” he pointed out. “The turn-off’s s’posed to back that way.”

Dawn frowned. “I didn’t see any…” She remembered where the other vehicle had turned in front of her and sighed. “Right,” she agreed, making a screeching U-turn at the intersection to go down Highway E in the other direction.

“And you say _my_ drivin’s dangerous…” Spike grumbled.

* * *

The old woman at the desk looked up to see the peppy blond in a light pink ski jacket with white fake fur trim enter the lodge. _Tourists_ , she sighed inwardly before plastering a smile on her face to greet the young woman. “May I help you?” she asked politely.

Buffy sat her two bags down on the floor and pulled off the thick mittens she was wearing to combat the cold. “My name is Buffy Summers,” she agreed.

The old woman appraised her a second time in surprise. _This_ was a demon hunter? “Yes, I believe I talked to you on the phone,” she nodded. “My name is Ms. Danvers. I own the lodge.”

“Ah, you’re my employer,” Buffy said with a bright grin, shaking the old woman’s hand and studying her more intently. She was frail and hunched over, but Buffy had no doubt that she had once been a tall woman. Her hair was thin and white, her face deeply wrinkled, and her eyes had deep circles beneath them, as if she hadn’t been getting enough sleep. Probably due to the string of deaths. “Has anything else happened since we last talked?” Buffy inquired, signing the guest book.

The old woman nodded. “Everyone’s gathering together for a conference this evening,” she stated. “It meets at eight in the recreation room. Please, be punctual.”

Buffy blinked. “Meeting? Everyone?”

“Everything will be explained then,” Ms. Danvers assured her. She handed Buffy her key card. “Your room is 123.”

“Good, easy to remember,” Buffy smiled, looking at the hotel map the other woman pointed to. “Eight then? In the rec room?” She located that on the map as well.

“Thank you so much for coming, dear,” Ms. Danvers agreed with a slight smile. “You have no idea how much it’s…appreciated…”

Buffy just waved, lugged up her heavy bags without the slightest effort and headed off for her room…

* * *

And Ms. Danvers turned when the door opened once more, ushering in a pair of figures. Now, _these_ were what demon hunters were supposed to look like. The pair was clad from head to toe in black, each sporting black boots, jeans, shirts, and leather jackets. The woman’s clothes were tight and trendy, and her long auburn hair was tied back in a no-nonsense ponytail. The man’s shirt highlighted his defined musculature, and his bleached white hair and scarred eyebrow gave him a dangerous edge. The two moved perfectly in time with each other, obviously from years of fighting in sync.

Ms. Danvers smiled up at them. “Your names?”

“Dawn and William Summers,” Dawn provided, turning back to Spike. “You’re _sure_?” she asked.

He nodded. “Place looks bloody familiar. Could’ve stopped by durin’ my travels with Dru, I s’pose…” he added thoughtfully.

“Surprisingly few neck trauma reports in the past fifty years,” Dawn shot back, signing the guest book. She turned to Ms. Danvers then. “You got us the two-room suite, right?” she inquired.

The innkeeper nodded. “It’s just the two of you?” she frowned, slightly baffled as to why the couple would need the second room. “Because if you have any children—?”

Spike gulped. “ _Children_?” he repeated in disbelief.

“The hubby’s holding out, huh?” Ms. Danvers gave Dawn a knowing smile. _Well, that, and he’s a vampire…_

Dawn’s face reddened as well. “Um, Spike’s my _brother_ ,” she clarified, embarrassed.

Ms. Danvers blushed at her mistake as well. “Oh, sorry, dear,” she winced apologetically. “I didn’t know.” _Especially with him being dead and all…_

“Right then,” Spike had the sudden urge to flee.

“Why don’t you go bring our bags in?” Dawn suggested helpfully.

Of course, Spike just _had_ to be difficult about everything. “’m not your bleedin’ valet,” he grumbled under his breath before going off to do just that.

Dawn rolled her eyes before noticing Ms. Danvers’ nametag. “Ah, we talked on the phone,” she shook the other woman’s hand.

“Indeed, we did,” Ms. Danvers agreed.

“So, anything new happened?” Dawn inquired as Spike walked by with an armful of bags, muttering under his breath the whole time.

“You’ll get a full report this evening at the meeting,” Ms. Danvers explained. “The recreation room at eight.” She went back to search for the keycard to room 121.

“ ‘Meeting’?” Dawn repeated curiously. “With whom?”

“I’ve brought in several other specialists to help solve the problem,” Ms. Danvers said simply. “It will all be explained at the meeting.”

“Right.” Dawn decided to let it drop. She was tried from the long drive and the aggravating vampire in the car. Investigation could occur after sleep. She took the key from the innkeeper.

“I’ll see you both at eight,” Ms. Danvers said with a smile just as Spike entered with the last of their bags.

Dawn rolled her eyes as he unceremoniously dumped them in the middle of the lobby floor right next to the rest of their stuff. “Think we brought enough weapons?” Dawn couldn’t help but tease.

Spike gave her a mock-offended huff. “No such thing ‘s too many weapons,” he insisted.

“You are aware that, as the woman, it’s _my_ job to pack a ridiculous amount of stuff, not yours?” she inquired sarcastically.

He merely grumbled in response, his body taut with the lack of activity during the last day and his mind obviously just as agitated. “Which room?” he demanded gruffly.

Dawn handed him the key. “121. I’m going to get a quick look at this place before crashing – guarantee that we haven’t actually walked onto the set of ‘The Shinning’.”

Spike chuckled at that. The carpets were a pale blue-gray, instead of that creepy red, but he’d had similar thoughts when he entered the hotel. Too much space, too few people, too fake a pleasant ambience. “’S long as Jack Nicholson doesn’t start chewin’ the scenery,” he agreed, making the first haul down to their room.

Dawn smiled at that before venturing in search of the recreation room…

* * *

 _Yum_ , was Buffy’s first thought as she stepped out of her room and caught sight of the sexy, jean-clad ass of the man in the suite next to her just as he closed the door behind them. _Spike-quality yum._ She hadn’t seen a butt that nice in years; unfortunately, her brief affair with the vamp had left her with impossibly high standards of virtually every sort.

She headed back out to the lobby then, resigning herself to the task of lugging the rest of her luggage back to her room. _Hmm, I wonder if that’s why they call it ‘luggage’?_ She wondered absentmindedly. _Something of the lugging. And people mock me for my use of ‘slayage’?_

The lobby was conspicuously empty as she went through; even the woman at the front desk was gone. _Now, that must be the world’s most boring, sucky job._

Liking the ambience even less when there was no one there – there was something about big, open spaces with suspiciously cheerful ambience that seriously wigged her out – she trotted out to her vehicle, not even noticing the battered Chevy parked beside it.

 _Of course_ , she admitted to herself, _it could just be because of all the people that have died in this place…_ But she was used to places where people died a lot. She Who Hangs Out In Cemeteries, right? This place felt different. Pain, anguish, torment… It almost seemed like the walls were whispering to her, calling to her, pleading…

She gave the empty coffee cup in the back seat a suspicious look. _That’s what I get for O.D.ing on caffeine_ , she chided herself before overloading her arms with various suitcases and returning to the building. _Stupid tingly senses…_

* * *

The small woman carrying so many bags that Spike couldn’t even see her face collided with him, just as he was bending over to move the last of his and Dawn’s things to the common room of their suite. An explosion of suitcases followed as their bags scattered to the four corners of the lobby in a confetti shower of luggage.

“Bloody ‘ell!” Spike groused. “Watch where you’re goin’, you daft chit!”

Buffy blinked from where she’d landed on her ass right behind a rather large suitcase. No. Way. She shook her head, convinced she was hearing things – _maybe this is part of the haunting…_ – and rose to her feet to see…

There was a moment of complete, beautiful silence.

The two dumbstruck estranged lovers gaped in unison before both simultaneously moved to rub their eyes. When the sight of the other persisted, Buffy cautiously reached out to touch his sleeve and…

The same cool leather she remembered. At the same time, Spike felt the familiar heat of her hand.

There was an awkward pause, and then:

“Spike?”

“Buffy?”


	5. Meet the Competition

“Spike.” This was said with a surprised smile now as Buffy fully absorbed the fact that, yes, he was really here.

“It’s really you?” Spike’s voice sounded so soft, almost hopeful.

Buffy managed a wry laugh at that. “I was just about to ask you the same question,” she agreed. _All these years apart, and we’re still so in sync with each other…_

A slightly amused glint entered Spike’s eyes as well. “So…uh,” he ran a nervous hand through his hair, “why’re you here?”

“Some demon-y problem,” she rolled her eyes. “I’m here to kill it. You know, the usual.”

“Oh.”

God, he sounded so disappointed. Why did he sound so disappointed? “What about you?” she inquired.

“The same.” His face was closed off from her now, the hint of hidden emotion she’d seen earlier gone.

She took a moment to study him, re-memorizing all of his handsome features.

It had been about two months after Dawn had finally left for good that she’d first had the uncontrollable craving to see him again, to just know that, yes, he really had existed. Six hours had been spent frantically searching through the old photo albums in the basement, desperate for just one image of him she could hold onto.

What she had found left a sinking feeling in her stomach. She, Willow, Xander, Giles, Dawn, Tara…hell, even _Anya_ had all gone through various stages where they took pictures like mad. There were literally dozens of albums detailing practically every moment of Scooby existence. All sorts of various groups of people smiling for the camera – in her house, at the old Magic Box, in Giles’ apartment… Hundreds, maybe thousands of photos. But not one of them had been of the face she was longing to remember.

She had cried that night for the first time since he’d left. It had never really struck her before just how much of an outsider they’d made him so that, on none of those dozens of occasions, _no one_ held ever turned the camera on him and said “Hey, Spike, smile!” in an effort to snap a candid shot.

The one image she did recover was of her and Riley holding each other tightly and smiling with the most fake smiles she’d ever seen. The photo had obviously been taken in her freshman year of college since there in the corner of the background was Spike, leaning against the doorframe to Giles’ kitchenette, his head tilted away from the camera.

It was ironic that all that effort went into preserving something so utterly meaningless as the memory of her relationship with Riley, when the man she wanted to remember only existed in the background, as a mistake, something no one ever considered might be important…

It had taken over two years for her to stop feeling silly about the whole thing and have the image of Spike blown up and her and Riley cut from the picture. Still, the picture only showed the side of his face, his chin tilted away, blocking most of his features. She could see the sharp line of one cheekbone, the cut of his chin, and – although she still wasn’t sure whether she was hallucinating it or not – the slight curve of his eyelashes against his cheek.

It hadn’t been nearly enough to remember him, even though she’d tried so hard.

But, now, as he stood before her once more, her mind’s picture of him could once again turn vivid. Slight errors and exaggerations were corrected, gaps were filled, and before she knew it the fine masterpiece had been restored, more beautiful and _right_ than even she could have imagined…

“You…uh…” Her mind was scrambling desperately for something to say and fighting the nearly uncontrollable urge to fling herself into his arms. “…So, you still kill demons?” she finally finished lamely.

“Yeah.”

This was different. She hadn’t remembered him this cool, this closed-off. She remembered vibrant, unquenchable passion, whether it was in a smoldering glance he longingly sent her way or in the way his hands caressed her as he made love to her. She didn’t think she’d imagined that.

“So, where did you go after…?” _I beat you to a bloody pulp in a back alley and left you for dead._ She flinched inwardly.

“Around,” he gestured vaguely. “You?”

“Still on the Hellmouth,” she said with a fake laugh. “Only, not a Hellmouth anymore…mostly just a demon tourist trap now.”

“Heard about that,” Spike nodded.

He hadn’t always been this quiet, had he? Surely, he hadn’t always been this quiet… She remembered him constantly talking, flirtation and innuendo in everything he said, harsh truths that she hadn’t been ready to hear whispered against her ear… But she was ready now. She wanted…

“Well, fancy meetin’ you.” Spike picked up Dawn’s last two bags and hauled them over his shoulders. “Good luck with the slayin’.”

And, with that, he walked off.

And Buffy just stood there, stunned.

* * *

“Absolute emergency, Holden!” Buffy practically screeched into the phone, hands shaking slightly as she did so.

“Buffy?” the therapist said in slight confusion. “I’m with another client right now.”

“ _He’s_ here,” Buffy retorted. “I just met _him_ in the hotel lobby.”

Holden Webster’s brow furrowed at this. Buffy had first come to him for help when she couldn’t stand her marriage any longer. In the time since, she’d been one of his most difficult patients, the seemingly endless list of nightmarish relationships each leaving deep emotional scars. But nothing had ever effected her so much as her regrets about _him_.

“I’ll be done in ten minutes,” he assured her. “I’ll call you right back.”

“You’re got the inn number, right?” Buffy asked wearily. “I’m in room 123.”

“Yeah,” Holden agreed, “I’ve got it…”

* * *

Dawn had returned to their suite expecting to find Spike literally bouncing off the walls, trying to drag her off to the town for some violence and mayhem. What she _hadn’t_ been expecting was Spike, collapsed in the center of the room, tears streaking down his cheeks and body convulsing uncontrollably with shivers.

Instantly, she ran over to him, and she couldn’t even have said how they managed it, but somehow they became wrapped in a veritable tangle of limbs, him whimpering softly as he tried to bury himself in her embrace.

“Shh, Spike…” Dawn soothed, stroking his hair comfortingly. “What happened?” She felt her shirt dampen with tears but didn’t care if it was drenched. All that mattered was…

“Buffy.”

Dawn started in surprise at that. He never mentioned her unless he absolutely had to. “What?” she asked, confused.

“Buffy…” He gulped and shut his eyes, as if steeling himself up. “Buffy…is here,” he finally finished.

Dawn’s face whitened in response. “Here?!” she repeated, just short of panic herself. “How? Why?”

“I ran into ‘er in the lobby,” Spike answered shakily, running a hand through his spiky hair. “She said she was here to kill the nasty, too.”

Dawn’s face hardened. “This is _our_ case,” she insisted. “So she can just go home.”

“No,” Spike shook his head. “Let her handle it. We need to go—”

“Did she hurt you?” Dawn asked, suddenly concerned, looking him over. “She didn’t touch you, did she? ‘Cause, so help me…” She left the threat unfinished.

He shook his head meekly. “I just can’t…” he began helplessly.

“You can,” she assured him, squeezing his hand gently. “C’mon, I know you’re strong enough to beat this. I’ve seen it. We’ll just go to the meeting tonight, work something out, and if we don’t like the way things turn out, then we’ll leave tomorrow.”

Spike calmed at this and seemed to compose himself, giving her a reassuring little nod.

She smiled in response, placing an affectionate kiss on his cheek. “It’ll be all right,” she insisted.

As the pair disentangled themselves from the floor, the hints of red light that had been flickering about the corners of the room, just out of sight, turned a sickly green color for a moment before bursting back into red and vanishing through the walls.

The Key and the Vampire remained oblivious.

* * *

“My name,” the pompous British man at the head of the room said, straightening his finely manicured suit as he did so, “is Simon Whitteborn, attorney at law. I represent the Danvers estate and will supervise this investigation.”

Spike rolled his eyes, leaned back up against the ‘no smoking’ sign, and lit his cigarette, decadently blowing a stream of smoke into the recreation room.

Simon shot him a dirty look as did the female of the pair of D’vorak Demons that sat on the couch next to him, her antennae twitching blue in irritation. No one else seemed to mind.

“You ask us to solve your problem,” a bored-looking woman with long red hair, tight leopard-print clothes that showed off her shapely figure, and a wine glass in one hand replied, “yet you intend to step on our feet as well?” She took another dainty sip from her glass, her dark eyes searching out Spike’s over the rim and giving him an approving look.

“I assure you, Miss Duvall,” Simon huffed slightly, “it is in the best interest of everyone involved. Previous independent hunters have met with…unpleasant ends.”

“Yeah, that’s what I want to hear about,” Buffy said determinedly, arms crossed over her chest in a no-nonsense manner. “’Cause I was under the distinct impression that I was the first – and _only_ – demon hunter being called in.”

“Second that,” a tall, Hispanic man wearing dark sunglasses said from his position sitting atop the pool table.

“Yes, well,” Simon fidgeted slightly, “I am sorry that we misrepresented our deal to you, but I assure you all that it was most necessary.”

“I’d be a lot more assured if you explained _why_ it was ‘most necessary’,” Dawn said pointedly, leaning back against the wall beside Spike.

“The problem we face is multifold in its complexities…” the lawyer began.

Buffy instantly tuned out. Aside from the observation that British lawyers could drone on and on just as long as British watchers could, there was nothing to keep her interested in the endless double-talk tirade of the older man. Especially when she had so many other things to think about…

It was a good thing she’d gotten to talk with Holden for a good hour or so – long-distance charges firmly attached to her therapy bill – because, if she hadn’t freaked enough at seeing Spike once again, seeing Dawn would have pushed her right over the deep end. Fortunately, Holden had always had a rather amazing ability to cut right through all her emotions and make her look at the truth. Actually, he kind of reminded her of Spike in that way, only without the whole unholy temptation factor that had always caused her to lash out at the vamp.

Now, however, she did as Holden had suggested and really _studied_ the black-clad pair of demon hunters leaning casually back against the door. Don’t deny the past, but don’t pretend that things haven’t changed, either. Learn everything possible, watch for reactions, don’t jump to conclusions and let things balloon out of control.

It was frightening how often she had to repeat this over and over again to herself, especially when dealing with Spike.

Dawn was the easier of the two, though, so Buffy started with her. Her first reaction was ‘where has my little kid sister gone?’ Dawn seemed commanding, confident, in control. She was asking tough questions, demanding that she got the answers she needed, and – believe it or not – she actually seemed to have the authority of her and Spike’s team.

Buffy could still remember when Spike had been babysitting her little sister, and now she was… Grown-up. That was it. She was a grown-up now, and a strong one at that. Buffy hoped she wasn’t deluding herself when she thought she saw a bit of herself in her sister. Besides the whole demon hunting thing, of course.

That had her a bit panicked, but for all she knew Dawn could’ve been fighting demons for over five years now. Buffy had to face the fact that she didn’t really know what her sister had become or who she was. Whoever she was, though, she didn’t seem to need the protection that Buffy instinctively wanted to give her…

“Now, if I can have your attention, please,” Simon said wearily, realizing that he’d lost half his audience in the interim. Buffy, Spike, the woman Buffy had labeled ‘Leopard-Skinned Skank-Ho’, and that D’vorak Demon that had been giving her a weird look all turned their attention back to the matter at hand. “The situation is as follows,” Simon began, gesturing with a pointer to the board beside him.

“October 15th. A newlywed couple from Vermont moves into room 242. At midnight, the husband – Arthur Anderson – leaves. The next morning, his young wife, Emily, is found by one of the maids. She managed,” he grimaced slightly, “to hang herself with a bed sheet.”

“Maybe the hubby killed her,” a gruff chuckle sounded from the far side of the room.

Spike cocked one eyebrow in the direction of the three men gathered by the dartboard. They’d been too preoccupied with talking among themselves to contribute anything up until this point. Spike had been possessed with an instant distaste for them. They seemed to represent everything that annoyed him about Americans – loud, rude, stupid, ignorant beyond belief…and with absolutely nothing but deluded macho-ness to back up their images.

Simon gripped the bridge of his nose. Had he had glasses and the certain habits of another Englishman, he would have undoubtedly been cleaning them. “The police investigated the matter,” he informed the group. “Mrs. Anderson died at approximately 3:30 in the morning – long after her husband left. Apparently, the two of them had had a…conflict earlier in the evening in which Mr. Anderson had abruptly declared that he actually preferred men and had only married her because his parents had pressured him into it. The death was determined to be a suicide.”

He gestured to the next name and date, written neatly on his chart. “Mr. Patrick Adams, aged 58, single all his life, avid hiker and outdoorsman. Found in his room on November 1st after a large explosion. The investigating officers found that he had shot himself in the head. A note was left behind, explaining how the late Mr. Adams could no longer bear to live in a world where he was so constantly alone. His mother and sisters were completely shocked by the news.”

The next date, November 9th. “Madame ‘Cassandra Cleopatra’,” Simon read off the name skeptically, “had apparently heard of the two recent deaths and decided it would be wise to hold a ‘crossing-over with the poor, tortured souls who ended their lives so tragically’. Madame, er… _Cleopatra_ was a wealthy enough woman that my client, Mrs. Danvers,” he gestured to the innkeeper sitting beside him, “agreed to let her…experiment. At ten o’clock on the night of the 8th, Madame Cleopatra locked herself in this very room to ‘speak with the spirit world’. She gave instructions that she was not to be disturbed until one. Some such nonsense about the spirits being most conversational at midnight, I believe.”

Despite the lawyer’s rather monotone account of the events, everyone in the room found themselves riveted to his story. Maybe it was the bit about the flaky psychic. All stories were more entertaining the minute flaky psychics entered them.

“And?” Buffy’s ‘Leopard-Skinned Skank-Ho’ asked breathlessly.

“The door was opened at one o’clock exactly…” So, maybe Simon had a bit of a dramatic sense after all. “Madame Cleopatra was found sitting directly in the center of the room, the candles around her all blown out. She was dead.”

“How?” This was from the Hispanic man with the sunglasses.

“The doctor’s verdict was that it was heart failure,” Simon concluded. “But—”

“You should have seen the look in her eyes,” Ms. Danvers spoke up for the first time. “Pure, wide-eyed horror…”

The three tough guys by the dartboard shifted uncomfortably. They were used to kicking the crap out of physical threats, not facing some unknown terror…

“It was around this time that the incidents escalated,” Simon continued in a voice so prim and precise that everyone wondered whether they had imagined the collective chill that had run down their spines. “A large painting fell from the wall in the restaurant, injuring one guest and breaking another’s leg. Items began disappearing from various rooms, only to reappear elsewhere days later. Theft is considered unlikely in these cases since those who found the missing items in their rooms promptly returned them. There have been reports of voices – whispers – at night, encouraging the most terrible acts.”

Buffy herself shivered at this, remembering her own creepy feelings when she’d first entered the place.

“But it was not until November 30th that we had our next fatality,” Simon continued. “In an effort to combat the situation, an old friend of mine from the Watcher’s Council—”

 _Surprise, surprise…_ Buffy, Dawn, and Spike all rolled their eyes in unison.

“—sent a rather powerful Witch’s Guild psychic to investigate. That night she was cheerful, enthusiastic, and eager. The next day she was found outside, at the edge of the woods, frozen in her efforts to crawl away from the house. Cuts covered her entire body and, upon examination, it was discovered that every piece of glass in her room had been shattered.”

The three men at the back of the room seemed to be getting more and more agitated as the story progressed. What the fiercest demons could not accomplish, simple fear of the unknown was doing admirably.

“December 5th marked a daughter stabbing her mother in the stomach as she slept. Afterwards, the girl could offer no explanation of why she would have done such a thing and, in fact, seemed quite traumatized by the event. She was taken to a psychiatric hospital in Denver and is still on suicide watch.” Simon pulled the cover down over his chart.

“And, that,” he concluded, “is why we have invited you all here tonight. Upon the advice of my friend in the Council, it has become apparent that normal methods of dealing with this… _haunting_ are inadequate. It has killed professionals—”

“And may very well kill us, too!” One of the men in back shouted out angrily. “If you’ve got nothing for us, then why should we stick around and wait to die?”

“A possibility,” Simon admitted, “although one that we are making well worth your while. Whoever eliminates the problem will receive the total sum of the offers that each of you has been given. That is three-hundred thousand dollars, for those of you who cannot do the maths.”

This seemed to spark the interests of the three men once more. “So we just hope whatever it is knocks off the others first while we ferret the bugger out?” the loudest of the group asked.

Simon gave him a distasteful look but nodded. “Crude, but to the point,” he conceded. “We are hoping there will be safety in numbers.”

“But only one of us gets all that money?” Leopard-Skin was back in the conversation.

“You are encouraged to work together,” Simon caught the instant looks of distaste on many faces, “although it is not required.”

“What about the guests?” Buffy asked, her brow furrowed. “If this is such a big danger, why are you still letting innocent people stay here?”

“They stay at their own risk,” Ms. Danvers insisted defensively. “We have made no secret of the incidents, but we cannot afford to shut down at this crucial point in the season.”

“Not even if _lives_ are at stake?” Dawn added sarcastically.

Her tone seemed to have caught the attention of the young Hispanic man on the billiard table, but his glasses concealed whatever his eyes would have given away. Spike’s own eyes narrowed at him suspiciously. There was something about that guy that just didn’t feel right…

“Lives will not be at stake so long as you all do your jobs,” Simon insisted somewhat huffily. “ _If_ it ever seems absolutely necessary to me to shut the lodge down for the protection of its guests, it will be done. But not a second before.”

“An’ let me guess,” Spike snorted derisively, “ ‘absolutely necessary’ looks a lot like ‘legally culpable’.”

Simon didn’t have a response for that. “I will expect regular reports from you all, but I will leave it to yourselves to arrange how you plan to investigate. We have compiled a list of regions within the lodge that seem particularly susceptible to this presence.” He set the list on the armrest of the D’vorak Demon beside him. “However, may I suggest that you at least introduce yourselves?”

Several groans at that, especially from the back of the room.

“Fine,” one of the men huffed, “name’s John. This here’s my brother, Bob, and our partner, Tucker.” The quiet member of the group nodded sullenly. John approached the D’vorak and practically snatched the list from him. “We’re scopin’ out the woods, and we don’t need any of _you freaks’_ ”—he cast a pointed glance in Spike’s direction before turning back to look at the D’vorak pair with disdain—“help.”

With that, the three of them stalked off, John tossing the list onto the table before Dawn as they walked by.

“Oh dear,” Ms. Danvers seemed a bit shaken up by the rude exit.

“Er, yeah,” Dawn picked up the list and scanned it. “So, as for the rest of us… Why don’t we divide these places up, each see what we find, and then meet tomorrow evening to discuss it?”

“Why wait for evening?” the male D’vorak let out a yawn. “Seems like a waste of time.”

His female partner gave him a nasty glare…and then flashed one at Buffy as well.

 _Ah, the popularity of being a Slayer…_ Buffy couldn’t help but sigh inwardly.

“Some of us have more nocturnal schedules,” Dawn argued. “Does the evening _not_ work for anyone?”

“What I want to know,” Leopard-Skin was at it again, her tone one of practiced droll refinement, “is who _you_ are and why you think any of us should listen to you.”

“Hey!” Buffy moved to speak up, but Dawn cut her off.

“My name is Dawn Summers. I’ve been dealing with the supernatural my entire life. And, unlike _some_ people, I seem to be actually making a plan, instead of just making snide remarks.”

That pretty much shut up any further objections from Leopard-Skin. She got approving nods from the D’vorak couple also, as well as what looked to be a lopsided smile from Sunglasses Guy. Buffy was too dumbstruck at her little sister’s poise and authority to say anything.

“So,” Dawn continued, scanning the list in front of her, “Spike and I will stay here tonight and hope we get a haunting.”

“Spike?” Leopard-Skin looked at her blankly.

Dawn rolled her eyes and gestured to the vampire beside her. “My partner, Spike,” she introduced.

“Charmed,” Spike shrugged, “only…not.”

“Spike indeed,” Leopard-Skin practically licked her lips.

A smirk played across Spike’s own lips in response, causing Buffy to completely miss what Dawn was saying.

“Huh?” she repeated dumbly.

“I just told everyone that you’re Buffy,” Dawn repeated. “Why don’t you take the restaurant? We can get the keys to that, right?” she inquired of Simon. He nodded. “And I don’t want you to do it alone…” Her eyes alighted on Leopard-Skin, and she raised an inquiring eyebrow.

“Veronica,” the redhead said with a bored toss of her long hair. “Veronica Duvall.”

“All right,” Dawn agreed. “Buffy and Veronica have the restaurant. So that leaves…”

“Xel,” the male of the D’vorak pair said with a smile on his face. His offered Dawn a blue-scaled hand and a charming smile. “And this is my mate, Lena.”

Lena looked significantly less thrilled than Xel…although, quite likely, it was because of the look her mate flashed in the direction of Dawn’s chest.

Dawn sighed inwardly and subtly stepped on Spike’s foot to stop him from doing the ‘big brother Neanderthal evil glare’ at every guy who looked at her. “You two can take the pool room, together with…?”

“Ricardo Salvatore,” the young man with the sunglasses said in a voice almost too soft to be heard. The trace of some sort of exotic accent lingered around his words, but they were still quite understandable.

Dawn gave him a little nod of acknowledgement. “We’ll meet at eight tomorrow night, here once more,” Dawn concluded, penning in the names by the locations. “So, are we all clear?”

“What exactly are we supposed to _do_?” Veronica said with an exaggerated sigh of annoyance.

Dawn cast her an equally annoyed look. “Tell us what happens, what you see. This thing seems to fall more in the poltergeist category, so swinging sharp objects isn’t going to do much good. We need to figure out what it is before we can proceed, and the only way to do that is to gather more information.” She gave Veronica a falsely sweet smile. “Anything else you’d like me to explain for you?”

Veronica scowled at the condescending tone but didn’t say anything further.

“Then, if you don’t mind,” Dawn announced, “I’ve had a rather long day, and I’d like to have dinner before I have an equally long night. Spike?” she turned to her companion.

“Right, luv,” he agreed, following her out the door.

And Buffy bit her lip. Confident, beautiful, grown-up Dawn who had loved Spike all along… Suddenly, she wondered if she was already too late. If she’d lost him long ago…


	6. The First Night

Buffy wandered about the small restaurant, absentmindedly checking the mantelpiece of the large fireplace that took up one wall for dust. Nope, clean as a whistle. And, really, now that she thought about it, why exactly were whistles clean? And, speaking of clean whistles, why had Spike completely ignored her through the entire meeting? Was it because he and Dawn were together?

Even she managed to flinch at that horrible segue. With a sigh, she sat down on the large family table in the center of the room. All right, she could admit it. She was obsessing over Spike. And, really, it made perfect sense. After all, sexy guy claims to be in love with you, gives you hours after hours of the best sex of your life, then you’re stupid enough to turn psycho abuser and nearly kill him in a back alley so he leaves town for good, never even stopping by to say good-bye – that sort of thing just tends to preoccupy a girl.

And the only hope of distraction she had – namely, Leopard-Ho…er, what was her name again? Oh yeah, Veronica – was too busy reading some fashion magazine over at the far side of the room to start up any kind of conversation.

 _Remember that conversation Spike always wanted to have with you?_ Her persistent mind made yet another whiplash-inducing change in thought. _Bet it would’ve been sweet. Bet he would’ve looked up at you with those big soulful soulless eyes and told you how much he loved you and—Argh!_

OK, that was absolutely _enough_! Leopard-Skank had just volunteered for a chat, whether she liked it or not.

“Not much happening,” Buffy commented, wandering about the dining area once more.

A perfectly sculpted auburn eyebrow rose in response. “How very observant of you,” Veronica replied in a bored manner.

“Maybe stuff’s happening elsewhere?” Hell, even the sound of her own voice was better than being left alone with her thoughts.

“Fascinating.” Veronica’s tone practically oozed sarcasm.

Buffy scowled at the other woman. “You know, if we’re going to be stuck here together all night—” she began.

“Oh, spare me!” Veronica sighed in annoyance, dropping her magazine on the white tablecloth before her. “I don’t need the ‘let’s all get along’ speech.”

Buffy began to seethe inwardly. God, could this woman get any more pompous and self-centered? Not to mention: major skank-wear. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she retorted, her voice even more sarcastic if that were possible, “did you want to have that mega-ho outfit of yours sliced up into itty-bitty pieces by random shards of glass while you crawl, lungs gasping with blood, to your death? Silly me, and here I thought our working together actually served a _purpose_.”

“ _Mega-ho_?!” Veronica seemed to only pick up on that part of Buffy’s tirade. “This coming from a precious little girl, dressed in fluffy pink bunny garb?” Her gaze scanned up and down Buffy’s pale pink blouse and billowy white slacks before she snorted in disgust. “That outfit when out of style around _preschool_ , sweetie.”

“At least I’m not wearing a skinned cat!” Buffy bit right back. “Or, more like _not_ wearing one, excuse me!”

“Well, check out the scandalized little virgin,” Veronica let out a cold peel of laughter. “Here’s a tip, doll.” She leaned forward and patted Buffy’s cheek condescendingly. “If you want to ever catch yourself a man, you might try for something a little less…” she snorted in a ladylike fashion as she appraised Buffy’s wardrobe once more, “… _vanilla_.”

“And you might wanna go for something that doesn’t shout out ‘I’m a two-cent whore’!” Buffy bit right back.

“Your _friend_ seemed to enjoy it,” Veronica retorted nastily.

Buffy’s cheeks flushed slightly, but she just shook her head. “What are you talking about?” she demanded.

“Oh, puh-leeze!” Veronica rolled her eyes heavenwards. “You think I didn’t see you _drooling_ all over him? Some slight subtlety might pay off, dear.”

“This coming from _you_?” Buffy couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Cheap-and-easy’s probably your middle name!”

“The fact of the matter remains,” Veronica countered sweetly, “that he wanted me, and he didn’t even look twice at you. Spike…” The name fell off her lips with a contented murmur. “Bet he’s loads of fun in the sack. I’ll enjoy taking him for a test-drive. Don’t worry though, honey,” she patted Buffy’s hand with a wicked smile, “I’ll be sure to save you whatever leftovers there are when I’m done with him.”

Buffy didn’t even know where it had come from. All she knew was that Spike had been her friend and confidant and lover, and that he was loyal and loving and had already been used far, _far_ too often, and for this _bitch_ to talk about him like that…

Veronica crashed back into the far wall of the room with the force of Buffy’s blow. The plaster split with the force, and the other woman fell to the floor in a heap, her head lolling about loosely in unconsciousness.

In an instant, the red fury that had enveloped Buffy’s vision faded, and she gasped in horror at what she’d done. She was at Veronica’s side almost immediately, checking the other woman’s pulse, hoping beyond hope…

“Ugh…” the other woman moaned, causing Buffy to breathe a sigh of relief. “What on earth was…?” She trailed off, wide-eyed when she looked up at Buffy for the first time. “Wh-What on earth is _that_?” She pointed with a shaky finger right at Buffy’s face.

“What?” Buffy felt her features in alarm, but nothing seemed out of place.

“Y-You’re not human!” Veronica announced, scrambling away.

“I’m a Slayer,” Buffy explained the source of her surprising strength.

Veronica shook her head. “No, your eyes,” she almost whimpered. “I saw it in them. The devil…”

* * *

“Paraguay,” Lena said in a husky voice, her antennae practically fluttering with excitement. “It sounds so…exotic…” She placed a not-so-inconspicuous hand on Ricardo’s thigh, causing him to inch backwards slightly in alarm.

Not that he had anything against green lizard-skinned demons with twitching antennae, mind you. In fact, he was sure that her antennae were…lovely, in the eyes of some. (And just how _were_ they staying at a human resort without attracting attention anyway?) It was the _married_ part that really threw him for a loop. Especially since her eternally-binding, ‘til-death-do-us-part mate was practically breathing down the back of his neck in a jealous rage.

“Lena,” Xel practically hissed, his own antennae reddening with rage, “can’t you at least _pretend_ to restrain yourself?”

She cast her husband an annoyed glance and inched towards Ricardo once more. “Ricardo Salvatore,” she rolled the ‘R’s on her tongue. “Such a… _strong_ name…” Her fingers drifted to a place that they had absolutely no right to touch.

With an uncharacteristic yelp, Ricardo leapt to his feet and sat himself down at one of the other white tables that circled the resort’s spacious swimming pool. The only light in the room came from the pool lights, creating an eerie green wave pattern of darker and lighter shadows that covered the walls around them. They made the entire room seem like it was shimmering with supernatural luminescence, reflecting off the demon pair’s ebony eyes like flecks of emerald. It made the rage on Xel’s face look even more dangerous.

“So, _boy_ ,” Xel hissed angrily, his forked tongue snapping between his teeth. The gesture looked particularly eerie and out of place given that the rest of the D’vorak’s facial features were humanoid, “why don’t we make a little deal?”

“Xel, be nice!” Lena exclaimed indignantly, gripping her mate’s arm roughly to hold him back.

“I’ll not have you cheating on me right under my nose!” Xel roared at her furiously.

“ _Me_?!” Lena snapped back in retaliation. “Don’t think I didn’t see how you were checking out that brunette this evening! Why, if _anyone_ —”

“Perhaps we could search the other rooms for unusual activity?” Ricardo spoke up hesitantly, hoping to break-up the impending fight.

“What an excellent idea,” Lena practically beamed at him. “Why don’t _you_ ever come up with ideas like that?” She turned a sharp eye in Xel’s direction.

“Maybe if I didn’t have to keep a constant eye on _you_ , I would’ve!” Xel retorted.

“I don’t need you to baby-sit me!” Lena scowled. “I’m your _mate_ , not a delinquent childe!”

“If you actually started behaving like my mate, then maybe—”

“I’m going to check the saunas,” Ricardo said quietly, standing up and walking calmly from the room.

“See? _Now_ look at what you’ve done!” Lena practically screeched.

“ _Me_?! _You’re_ the one who started it!” Xel retorted.

Ricardo shook his head as he exited the room and, in the process, the ever-present pair of black sunglasses he wore – even now, in the pitch-black of night – fell down the bridge of his nose. Had either Xel or Lena been paying attention, they would’ve seen the brief flash of red in the young man’s eyes before the glasses were returned to their proper position and he vanished through the doors at the end of the hall…

* * *

Bob took a deep swig out of his rusty old flask, tipping his head far back to allow the rough liquid to burn down his throat.

“Bobby!” John’s voice shouted out through the blackness of the forest. “Where you gone off to?”

“Right behind you, bro!” Bob shouted out, stalking through the dense undergrowth in the direction of his brother’s voice. He came upon Tucker first, and the seasoned hunter merely acknowledged him with a gruff nod as he lit up his cigar end.

“There you are,” a Southern twang entered John’s voice at his irritation. “We’ve been waitin’ for you for nearly five minutes.”

“Got caught up is all,” Bob insisted.

John gave him a skeptical look. “Caught up drinkin’ is more like it,” he accused.

“You know me better’n that, Johnny,” Bob defended him. “I don’t drink on the job.”

“Except down in Mexico,” John retorted.

“That was a long time ago,” Bob insisted.

“And I got my suspicions about Montana…”

The conversation froze to a halt then when Tucker abruptly raised one hand in a gesture of silence. The third member of their party was a man of few words, but his simplest gestures spoke volumes and were regarded with the utmost respect.

For a minute, they all just stood, surrounded by complete silence. In the cold of the winter, the normal nighttime sounds of the forest were muffled to nothing. It felt as though the entire world had vanished and all that existed was the completely still snowy clearing and the deep dark shadows of trees that faded off into oblivion on all sides.

“What?” John finally ventured to ask when no purpose for their sudden silence could be ascertained.

“Somethin’s out there,” Tucker said matter-of-factly, eyes narrowing as they tried to pierce the darkness.

Bob gripped his rifle so tightly his knuckles were turning white. No matter how much of a tough-guy act he put on, the story he’d heard that night had scared him shitless. “Where?” he demanded, forcing down the nervousness in his voice.

Tucker merely shook his head, scanning the surrounding forest in vain. “It’s out here,” was all he could say.

“Let’s go,” John announced, his own voice a hushed whisper in the still of the night. “I don’t want that thing watching us.”

Bob and Tucker nodded, falling in behind John in formation, the barrels of their guns aimed menacingly at the even more menacing forest around them. It was only after they had vanished from the clearing, however, that a shadowy figure slipped between the trees, its movements as silent as a tiger on the prowl. It paused right over where the men had stood, red eyes noting their footprints in the snow and cautiously sniffing the cold night air. Satisfied that the hunting party had once more moved on, it disappeared back into the forest as easily as if it had been one of the trees…

* * *

“I have had enough!” Lena practically shrieked. Brushing aside her mate’s arm, she stalked off in the direction Ricardo had gone, her antennae twitching in irritation.

“Not nearly enough,” Xel growled deep in his throat, cutting her off once more. “And I won’t have you running off with _him_!”

“Try and stop me,” Lena retorted menacingly, her hands balling into fists.

Xel’s eyes narrowed in response, his own body coiled to strike…

And then, suddenly, his eyes widened in horror. Lena noticed it at the same time, and her own anger dissipated as fear took its place.

The ghostly green waves of the pool that had illuminated their little argument had suddenly turned blood red, the light that now surrounded them looking like the fiery depths of hell.

Despite their fear, the demon couple turned to face the pool, only to find the water there the same tranquil blue it had always been. The light around them continued to close in with crimson menace, however, the pale red glow darkening to a deep, rich maroon that seemed to ooze down the walls, making it look as though the room were dripping blood. As the thickened red darkened to complete black, there was a moment of complete darkness before, suddenly, everything was normal once more.

Chlorinated waves lapped against the sides of the pool, reflecting greenish shadows upon the walls, and Xel and Lena turned to look at each other before running off after Ricardo. Only he was nowhere to be found…

* * *

With a final heave of effort, Buffy managed to lift Veronica up onto her bed. The other woman had drifted off into unconsciousness just after her cryptic and disturbing remarks, leaving it up to the Slayer to drag her all the way back to her room. Fortunately, Buffy had quickly found the tackily-dressed woman’s room key, indicating both where they should head and allowing Buffy to get her inside.

Buffy frowned at the number. 147. Something was important about that number. She just couldn’t seem to shake it from her head, like something important had happened in this room. She made mental note to check over Simon’s charts again; it was quite possibly the site of one of the ‘accidents’.

Veronica’s head lolled back on the pillow as she favored the side of her face without the nasty purple bruise. Buffy flinched inwardly at the thought that she had caused such a thing. She had been a Slayer for fourteen years now and knew her strength perfectly. She had never accidentally harmed someone like this, especially not a human. But tonight… Something had happened; she had lost control.

There was nothing unusual about her anger at Veronica, that was for sure. The other woman was crass, rude, and entirely too full of herself. She just naturally put Buffy on edge. And probably the worst way to piss her off right now was to comment on her non-relationship with Spike. That wound was older and deeper than any other Veronica could’ve possibly happened upon.

But then Veronica had started talking about Spike like…like he was _nothing_ , just a fuck-toy to be used and then cast aside, and Buffy’s blood had started boiling with rage and then…

It hadn’t happened it years. Honestly, it hadn’t. Holden had been helping her with that. Because one night, in a dark alley seven years ago, Buffy had hated herself so much that she’d taken it out on someone she cared about, beaten them to a bloody pulp because she saw things in them that she feared and loathed in herself.

“Spike…”

Not since Spike. But tonight it had happened again, Buffy forced herself to admit. She was practically the poster girl for using Spike for cheap sex, and she hated herself for it. And thus she had hated Veronica for it, too, and now…

“No,” she whispered to herself. “I’m not like that anymore. I-I’m not…”

With the beginnings of tears in her eyes, she darted from the room.

Veronica cautiously opened one of her eyes when she heard the other woman exit. She confirmed that she was, in fact, alone and breathed a sigh of relief. Because, no matter what the other girl thought or believed, Veronica had seen it the Slayer’s eyes in that moment before she struck. Just for a second, right at the moment when Buffy was consumed with uncontrollable rage, the pupils of her eyes had glowed a deep, threatening red…

* * *

“Gin,” Dawn announced, splaying her cards out on the table.

Spike groaned and tossed his own hand down in defeat. “I _know_ you’re cheatin’ somehow,” he accused. A click and a hiss and the flame from his lighter brightened the dim overhead light above them, creating a moment of brightness until he’d lit the cigarette between his lips and extinguished the silver Zippo.

“And who’s the one who taught me to cheat?” Dawn retorted coyly.

Spike rolled his eyes. “Must’ve gotten some tricks from somewhere else,” he insisted.

“Or maybe you’re just getting slow and decrepit in your old age,” Dawn patted his hand teasingly.

Spike mock-huffed and shuffled the cards between his hands, his movements as quick and precise as any professional dealer. Dawn made sure to keep one eye on those hands just in case; one could never be too careful when playing cards with a demon…even if there wasn’t anything at stake. That, and thinking about these sorts of trivial things built up her courage for…

“How are you doing?” Dawn asked softly, finally broaching the question that had hung between them all night.

Spike thought on that for a moment, his hands only faltering for a second before they picked up their even shuffling motions once more. “Not too bad,” he finally decided.

The top card from the deck landed on the table in front of Dawn with a snap, and she immediately scooped it up. “ ‘Not too bad’?” she repeated curiously.

Spike flicked out the rest of their hands with blinding speed, occasionally landing a card on the back of Dawn’s hand as she tried to beat his super speed, just because he could. A bitter chuckle escaped his lips. “Thought I’d freak out, y’know?” he clarified. “Thought it’d be this big thing…”

“And it’s not?” Dawn asked curiously.

He frowned. “It is, but it isn’t.” He shrugged helplessly and began to rearrange his cards. “She was…”

“Not bitchy?” Dawn provided with an amused smile.

“Ah, you noticed it, too,” Spike agreed with a grin. “Woulda hardly recognized her without the holier-than-thou I’m-in-charge attitude and the woe-is-me look in ‘er eyes.”

Dawn nodded. “She seemed different,” she agreed. “But I guess…” She trailed off at the painful memory. “That kind of thing has to change a person. I mean, losing all your friends…especially like _that_.”

Spike nodded grimly.

“So, you’re not too freaked?” Dawn pressed further. “Because if you still wanna go…”

“’m fine, sweetness,” he assured her. “Looks like things are finally over between us, y’know? No hard feelin’s…”

“Yeah,” Dawn agreed automatically. Her skeptical eyes watched his face intently as he continued to fiddle with his cards, however.

“’sides,” Spike added with a grin, “it’d be a shame to come all this way and not meet this nasty.”

“If it ever decides to show itself,” Dawn agreed with a smile.

Spike let out a put-upon sigh at that. “This has to be the slowest night ever,” he agreed, discarding the six of diamonds.

With a mischievous little smile, Dawn snatched it right up.

* * *

Buffy raced down the hall towards her room, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. She had thought she was over this. She’d been working so hard, learning to accept herself, getting to know herself all over again. And now this…

She came to a stop in the middle of the hallway and forced herself to take a deep breath. _Panicking won’t help anything_ , she reminded herself. _So you’ve still got some issues. Everyone does. Just call Holden in the morning and be prepared to try to work this out some more. Don’t deny it, just try to make things better…_

Her internal pep talk wasn’t having much of an effect. Tears were still running down her cheeks in rivulets, and she wiped at them helplessly. And then…

The melody had started off so faintly that she barely even heard it. It was just a whisper at first, deep and low and soothing to the soul.

Her sniffles came to a halt as she tried to make out whether she was imagining the ghostly chords or not. However, the haunting harmonies were more clear now, drawing her deeper into the calming piece.

Cautiously, she followed the sound down the corridor, searching for the source of the beautiful, elegant tones that seemed to heal her very heart. The piano chords grew louder as she approached the sitting room right off of the lobby, and she cautiously peered around the corner of the door that really should’ve been closed and locked at this hour…

A gasp escaped her lips at the sight therein. A ghostly specter sat at the piano, translucent white outlines dimly visible in the otherwise pitch-black room. So mesmerized was she by the soulful melody that accompanied the movements of its spidery fingertips that she didn’t even think to move closer and catch this spook in the act.

Her eyes squinted as she tried to better make out the apparition in the dim light, but then she heard the sound of a door slamming down the hall. She turned to look in response, but when her eyes returned to the piano, the mysterious player had vanished.

A thoughtful frown on her face, accompanied by a strange feeling of peace deep inside, Buffy returned to her room, puzzling over the eventful night.

* * *

“So,” Spike commented, closing the door to his and Dawn’s suite behind him, “you spot anything?”

“Upstairs was all clear,” Dawn sighed. “You?”

“Nothin’ outta the ordinary here, either,” Spike agreed. “Guess there really was nothin’ goin’ on tonight.”

It wasn’t until the next morning that they found out how wrong they were…


	7. Fallout

Dawn had just sat down to breakfast and was scanning her menu when the circus began. And, really, a circus was the only reasonable explanation for the tight red leather dress Veronica was wearing, combined with three-inch high snakeskin boots and a black feather boa. Dawn had to blink at the incredibly slutty fashion nightmare.

However, Veronica’s attitude completely belied the confident image her outfit betrayed. “You have to save me from that nutcase!” she practically screeched, leaning forward on the table to stare down at Dawn. “She tried to kill me!”

Dawn noticed the bruise along Veronica’s cheek for the first time and frowned. “What happened?” she asked, concerned.

“That little bitch punched me right across the room!” Veronica wailed, hands gesticulating wildly. “She’s possessed or crazy or something.”

Dawn frowned and motioned for Veronica to sit in the empty seat across from her. Spike didn’t do mornings, so she was pretty used to eating breakfast by herself. “Possessed? Crazy? Are we talking about Buffy?” she demanded.

“Little bitch knocked me across the entire room,” Veronica repeated, nodding vigorously. She leaned forward conspiratorially. “There’s something wrong with her. I saw it in her eyes.”

Dawn let out a weary sigh and rubbed her temples. “Why don’t you tell me exactly what happened?” she requested…

* * *

Spike let out a groan that sounded rather like those that the computer generated dinosaurs on those half-assed Discovery Channel specials did when they were ripped to shreds by herds of veloceraptors. The pitiable display got him no leniency, however, and the hard knocking on the door continued.

A soft whimper escaped his lips, and he tried covering his head with both pillows as well as that annoying fitted sheet that hotels always stuck on the bed. He first action upon retiring to his room last night had been to rip the damn thing out and toss it over the headboard. Now the sheet took its opportunity for revenge by refusing to block the noise.

The knocking on the door continued, earning a string of lavish and bizarre British curse words for its effort. Not put off in the slightest, the _bang!bang!bang!_ resumed with renewed vigor.

Finally giving up with the irritating persistence of the knocker, Spike practically oozed from the large motel bed. Halfway out, his feet tangled in the sheets and he made a rather ungraceful tumble onto the floor.

Muttering grumpily about what kind of idiot would still be knocking on the door after all of five minutes, Spike managed to finally locate the robe Dawn had bought for him and practically forced him to wear after that one morning when he’d given a certain stubborn DA of New York City a bit more to look at than she’d bargained for.

Tying the sash haphazardly about his waist, Spike stalked from his room to the common room of their suite, attempting to growl but his eyelids still too droopy from sleep to slip properly into gameface.

The message: a vampire at 10:30 in the morning is a _very_ scary thing.

“Whazzit?!” he roared, flinging the door open wide to face the irritant that had so rudely awakened him. His eyes narrowed. “Shoulda known it was you…” he muttered under his breath.

“Uh…Spike…” Buffy’s cheeks flushed horribly. The fact that she’d literally beat up a woman the night before in defense of his ‘honor’ was far too embarrassing for her to contemplate right now. _Yeah right, like the blush has nothing to do with that gorgeous chest of his_ , her voice of truth – which sounded suspiciously like Spike’s – felt obliged to point out.

She shook her head to clear it out. “I’m looking for Dawn,” she explained.

Spike blinked once, twice, thrice before her words finally pierced the drowsy haze that surrounded him. “Bit’s not here,” he said amidst a terrific yawn.

Buffy watched in amazement as Spike’s fangs descended with the power of his yawn. OK, so vampires technically had no reason to yawn, but _damn_ were they made for it! She made sure to keep her attention on his fangs rather than that rather skillful tongue she now had a lovely view of ‘cause majorly bad thoughts were that way. No the fangs were much safer – so long and sharp, perfect for piercing, penetrating deep and hard and…

“…or somethin’ like that,” Spike finished, absentmindedly scratching the top of his head, causing his short platinum hair to spike right up.

“Huh? Sorry,” Buffy shook her head once more. _Bad fangy thoughts!_ She scolded herself. _Distracting me…_

“I said she said she went out to do somethin’,” he repeated. “Here or at the town or somethin’ like that.”

“Thanks for the helpful tip.” Buffy couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

“Was asleep at the time!” he retorted defensively, leaning against the doorframe. “Impressive I remember the soddin’ conversation occurred in the first place.”

Buffy favored him with a shy smile at that. His eyes were still in danger of drooping closed, and she took the opportunity to really observe him. The crimson robe he wore hadn’t been tied properly and exposed his bare chest to her view. It was as pale and smooth as she had remembered, one of the dusty rose nipples that were the only disruption of his marbled physique peeking out at her.

Fortunately – or _unfortunately_ , that naughty voice in the back of her mind said – he had a pair of low-riding torn off sweatpants beneath them. The dull gray fabric hung from his angular hipbone, drawing the eye only too naturally to where the two sharp lines joined. Her memory had no difficulty supplying what was beneath those trousers, a delicious heat rising to her cheeks once more.

The sweats were ripped jaggedly just above the knees, exposing the fine tone of his calf muscles tapering down to those too sexy feet of his. Buffy had secretly been in love with those feet during their brief affair, and the desire to tackle him back to the floor and take that big toe in her mouth – and other things as well – was almost unbearable. She managed to restrain herself, however, with the promise to her sex drive that she would further ogle this undead Adonis.

The dull gray of his slacks set off the deep, rich red of his robe all the more. The fabric was clearly silk and shaded the tone of a fine, heady wine. Buffy was practically drunk just looking at where the soft fabric ended in a rolled sleeve, displaying the sleek corded muscles of his arm as it propped him up against the doorframe.

His inimitable razor’s edge cheekbones, startlingly blue eyes, and shocking white hair were just as attractive as she’d remembered them. The only difference was that his hair was cut shorter now, mussing up into spikes rather than the curls she’d run through her fingers in the past.

She approved of the new look, though. Hell, her entire body was practically screaming ‘yum!’ He looked so enticing right then, like a romance novel anti-hero offering her a night of forbidden passion, deep and dark and, oh, so tender…

Well, except for the fact that he was obviously trying not to fall asleep.

Buffy forced herself to focus. “This is important,” she insisted. “All sorts of weird stuff happened last night, and we have to research it immediately.”

Spike blinked a couple of times as the world finally came into full focus. Damn, he was really awake now. He probably wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep for hours…and by then Dawn would have undoubtedly returned and forced him into some form of menial labor.

“She might still be at breakfast,” he offered. “Might be able to catch her.”

Buffy nodded and was disappointed that she had no excuse to prolong the brief contact between them. However, as an answer to her prayers, the small cellular phone on the dining table by the kitchenette rang at just that moment.

Spike grumbled and swore but gestured for her to come in before he shut the door and prowled over to the phone, hitting the talk button with an angry jab of his index finger. “This better be good,” he growled into the receiver.

“Good morning, sunshine!” Siggy’s cheerful voice came through the other end. “I am calling to wake you up so that you are able to work.”

Spike scowled at the perky voice at the other end. “Dawn put you up to this, din’t she?” he demanded.

“She instructed me to awaken you prior to twelve o’clock noon. You may thank me that I let you sleep for another half an hour.”

“’S 10:30!” Spike exclaimed.

“Oh, I am _so_ sorry,” Siggy insisted. “I must have forgotten about the time zone differences.” The way she said it made it all too clear that she hadn’t forgotten in the slightest.

Spike contemplated many lovely acts of violence that would result in Siggy’s head and body ending up on different halves of the globe. Then, with a weary sigh, he caved in to the undefeatable whims of the women in his life, just as he always did.

“What’m I doin’?” he demanded, plucking a cigarette from the packet that lay on the table amidst several bags of salty junk-food goodness. With an absentminded gesture, he indicated for Buffy to sit in one of the blue-upholstered armchairs. “And why couldn’t Dawn tell me herself? ‘ll rip off ‘er arms and legs an’ beat her to death with the bloody stumps…”

Siggy took his usual death-threats with good humor. “She said you were too asleep to comprehend any orders,” she explained. “I am to relay to you our newest research and instruct you to make a thorough exploration of the basement levels today. Preferably before dinner.”

Spike sighed. “What’s the news?” he asked curiously.

Buffy fidgeted in her seat as Spike began nodding into the phone, making occasional comments. Her eyes scanned the common room, smiling at how chaotic it was. An opened suitcase full of clothes that were obviously Dawn’s sat on the kitchenette counter. Across the room, all sorts of odd weapons were scattered in various stages of cleaning and maintenance. It was pretty obvious what the pair had been doing yesterday after they unpacked. An obscene amount of snack-food lay on every available surface not taken up by instruments of death, letting her know all too well that her little sister and vampire ex-lover hadn’t lost their taste for junky treats in the time since she’d last seen them.

However, the object that really caught her attention was sprawled over the chair beside her. The black leather looked just as soft and worn as she’d remembered it. She could see various places where the duster had been sown back up after it had been sliced in a particularly fierce battle. She was almost proud that could identify where the Initiative had shot him with the homing device and where Glory had smashed him through the table that one time and where he’d taken that knife from the Grsh’thlick Demon before ripping the thing’s head clean off. Ah, good memories…

“Council ‘f Wankers finally caved in, huh?” Spike chuckled into the small black cell.

Buffy’s attention instantly returned back to the vampire’s conversation at that.

“Finally found a lonely old fool?” he inquired.

A pause.

“ _Me_?!” he exclaimed in surprise. “I don’t know any—”

Muttered gibberish on the other end.

“Oh, yeah, her,” Spike conceded. “Forgot all ‘bout that. Didja know she actually bothered to write a dissertation on me?”

Buffy could make out the teasing tone at the other end, even if she couldn’t hear what the other person was saying.

“Oh, god,” Spike groaned. “Please don’t tell me the two ‘f you have been comparin’ notes.” He banged his head against the table at the obviously affirmative response. “I don’t need the entire Tweed Brigade analyzin’ my every move,” he said in a petulant voice.

Soothing, clucking tones on the other end.

Buffy was growing impatient trying to decipher the one-sided conversation. Fortunately, it seemed to be wrapping up.

“Uh-huh. Uh-huh. You got it, Siggy-luv. Uh-huh. Yeah, that witchcraft business is no good. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Get right on it, pet.” He paused and managed a wry smirk. “’ll skin you alive the second I get home,” he said cheerfully. “Uh-huh. Ta, luv.” With a little flourish he turned off the phone.

“ ‘Siggy’?” Buffy repeated curiously. “Isn’t that that little pudgy guy in the newspaper with the parrot and the dog that looks like a mushroom?”

“That’s Ziggy, pet,” Spike pointed out, the edges of his lips threatening to break out into an amused smile at her joke.

Buffy giggled slightly at that as well. “So, what’s a ‘Siggy’?” she inquired.

“Siggy,” Spike explained with a sigh, snatching up a bag of Chex Mix and digging in like a starved man, “is the best damn researcher ‘ve ever had the pleasure of workin’ with.” He held out the bag to her in offering. “Want some?”

Buffy crinkled up her nose. “For breakfast?” she pointed out.

He merely shrugged and continued to happily munch away at the salty treat.

“So, this researcher of yours said something about witches?” Buffy pressed.

Spike eyed her suspiciously for a second, recalling the rather large amounts of money at stake in this case and then shrugging off the idea of the Slayer as a hustler as ridiculous. “Pretty powerful coven lived here,” he elucidated. “Back durin’ the first attacks. Nibblet’s lookin’ into whether they’re still around and what-all.”

“And you’re researching the basement?” Buffy raised an inquiring eyebrow.

“Not much else a vamp can do in the daytime,” he pointed out before getting up and heading over to the mini-fridge. He drained one of the blood bags there in a second, shaking his head at the foul taste of cold cow. “Besides sleep, that is.” He scowled rather pointedly at the door as if he were imagining Dawn standing there right now so that he could try to telepathically nudge the idea into her mind.

“That’s a good idea,” Buffy agreed, biting her lip as she stared down at the table. It hadn’t fully struck her before now just how much things had changed between the two of them. In a way, she was still used to thinking of him as her confidant after she’d been resurrected, her willing slave and lover, eager to carry out her every whim. She still hadn’t decided if the change was for the better, but she definitely missed the closeness.

Apparently, Spike was also reflecting on days past because he cocked his head to one side in that way that he did and looked her up and down. It wasn’t exactly in a sexual way, although there was always that hint of primal passion in him, but more curious, exploratory.

“You look good,” he finally said after the extended pause that hung between them.

A shy smile and a blush was her response. “You’re not so bad yourself,” she countered, making the understatement of a lifetime.

A smirk quirked at the edges of his lips as he plopped back down onto the couch across from her. He propped his feet up on the table, and she got a good look at those sexy toes. Damn, one of these days her fetish for Spike’s feet was going to do her in…

“Your hair—” He froze for a minute, remembering what had happened the last time he’d complemented her hair before shaking it off. “—‘s nice. Like what you’ve done with it.”

Buffy fingered the shoulder-length golden locks absentmindedly. “Yeah, I kinda decided the gray concentration camp refugee look wasn’t for me.”

He let out a delighted laugh at that, throwing his head back onto the couch back, his entire chest rumbling with amusement. Buffy watched his Adam’s apple bounce up and down in fascination. She’d so rarely seen him laugh, or just be happy, period. It made him look young, carefree, beautiful…

“You look like you’ve been treating yourself all right for once,” Buffy added, appraising him. His peroxide locks looked well-tended, rather than a chaotic curly mess. He was still lean and muscled but less gaunt than when she’d seen him last, and the dark weariness that had hung about his eyes was gone.

“Your li’l sis has seen to that.” Spike rolled his eyes and favored her with a conspiratorial smile. “Pampers me just like a mother hen.” He sat forward again, leaning in close to her. “Tryin’ to domesticate me, I think. Turn me into a kept vamp.”

She chuckled at that, although there was a pang of regret deep inside. Dawn had always been there for him, caring for him. He had wanted it to be her, but had he finally let Dawn take her place in his heart?

“You seem more…alive,” he ventured somewhat nervously. “’S a relief to see.” He looked down to study his hands through this speech, but his eyes turned upwards to meet hers hesitantly at the next part. “Was worried ‘bout you. Y’know?”

Buffy felt her heartbeat increase, and a wide smile lit up her face. “Yeah,” she agreed, shyly brushing a lock of hair behind her ear. “I kinda woke up to the world after you…left.” She hated herself at that moment for bringing the past up, but while she was at it… “I lost so much, so fast. It made me realize that I had to hold on before there was nothing left.”

A slight pang of guilt went through him at that, and he looked away. “Was sorry to hear ‘bout your little Scooby club,” he offered. “Tara and Willow were all right. Even Xander. Had good hearts an’ all. Not bad as far as humans go. They din’t deserve that…”

“Thank you,” Buffy said with a sad smile.

She could tell from the way he was squirming that it had been hard for him to say that, but she was glad that he had, that he still could. A little bit of happiness slid into her, too, at his comments. She could count on her hands the number of times he had called Willow and Tara by their real names, and she only needed one finger to count the number of times he’d called Xander by name. Including this time. It was a relief to know that that horribly sweet man was still buried within the badass vampire exterior. It was a sort of new hope just knowing that she hadn’t destroyed the beauty within him.

“Yeah, well…” Spike looked incredibly embarrassed after his little admission and began scratching the back of his neck in a nervous gesture she recognized all too well. “Better get to work, then. Your li’l sis can be quite the slave-driver.”

Buffy laughed and stood up with him. “What’s she gonna do, eat all your junk-food?” she teased lightly.

Spike’s eyes widened in horror at the thought. “Cor, din’t even think ‘f that!” He leaned in close so that their faces were only inches apart, his eyes darting around furtively like he was about to reveal the most shocking horror imaginable. “She threatened to rip out the cable!” he said in a mock-terrified whisper.

Buffy giggled, and her face flushed at his nearness, and her palms were sweating, and her heart was thumping pleasantly, and things were good. “Heaven forbid I should interfere with your noble mission to protect the television,” she agreed, leaning against the doorframe.

“You can help me by distractin’ her ‘til I get done,” Spike offered.

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” she agreed with a wide grin. “I’ll see you tonight at the meeting?”

He looked surprised at that but then nodded. “Uh, yeah. Sure. Tonight.” He opened the door for her, and she stepped back out into the hallway.

“It was nice talking to you again,” she added with a definite blush.

He thought on that for a second. “Yeah,” he said in sudden, honest realization. “It _was_ nice.”

“So, later?” Buffy gave him a little finger wave.

“Later, Slayer,” he agreed with a smile before closing the door behind her. He found his spirits oddly lifted as he went to go change and even hummed a little tune under his breath when he did so. After all, it was nice to finally have the horror of the past dulled.

In the hallway, Buffy was having similar thoughts, her body practically aflame with the brief, innocent encounter. God, how could she ever have thought that this man didn’t mean anything to her? She’d known she was screwed up that year after she came back, but so much so that she honestly didn’t notice just how comfortable he was to be around? That was craziness to top all other craziness.

She walked one door down to her own room, a jaunty skip in her step before she realized, oops!, she’d forgotten to mention what had happened last night…

* * *

“Excuse me, Ms. Summers?”

Dawn looked up in surprise at the softly accented voice, still rubbing her temples from her conversation with Veronica. “Uh…Ricardo Salvatore, right?” she provided with a smile after a moment’s thought. “And, please, call me Dawn.”

“Dawn,” he agreed, nodding slightly. “Rick.”

“Huh?”

“Rick.” His hands fidgeted slightly with the black bomber jacket he wore. “My family called me Rick.”

“Rick,” Dawn agreed, taking in his nervous motions. They seemed rather oddly out of place. The black jacket and dark sunglasses seemed to indicate something badass, like Spike’s look, but the way the other man held himself… It was more like he was trying not to be noticed, to blend into the background. “Was there something you wanted me to talk about?” Dawn shook the oddity from her head for the moment.

“There was a…problem last night,” he explained, continuing to stand awkwardly by her table, stepping quickly to the side when a waiter moved past him. “I thought it should be dealt with before this evening.”

Dawn gestured to the recently vacated seat across from her, frowning at the mention of yet another problem. “What happened?” she asked, concerned.

Rick slid into the chair with catlike grace that belied his obvious discomfort. “I would prefer not to work with Xel and Lena in the future,” he provided.

Dawn raised one eyebrow. “Any particular reason?” she pressed.

“I would prefer not to discuss it.”

Dawn sighed. First Veronica’s hysterics about how Buffy was the Devil Incarnate and now vague requests with no explanation – she was beginning to get a headache. “Request denied,” she said simply, turning back to the notebook before her.

“I see.” Rick didn’t sound disappointed or angry or…well, anything. It was said in a rather plain voice with no inflection.

Dawn gave him an apologetic smile and continued with her work. She had long assumed that he had gone when a sudden hand on her wrist caused her to yelp in surprise.

“Sorry!” Rick said hastily, instantly withdrawing his hand.

Dawn blinked in surprise. How on earth had he stayed there so quiet and…? She decided it didn’t matter. “Just startled me is all,” she assured him. “Was there something else…?”

Rick gulped. “You have no idea…” he began before sighing and caving in to her demands. “There’s no way I can take another night with those two. It’s like being stuck in an episode of Jerry Springer. Lena’s practically crawling over me to make Xel jealous, and Xel’s giving me these dirty looks and—I’m not a marriage counselor!”

A chortle of laughter escaped Dawn’s face at his completely panicked expression. It was that same look Spike always got when she threatened something precious to him – like his ‘Passions’ tapes, or his duster.

Rick gave her a pleading look and caught her hand once more. “I can’t survive another night,” he half-teased.

“I’ll save you from the quarreling D’voraks,” Dawn promised him with a smile. “Actually, I have to re-work the groups anyway since Buffy and Veronica had a little disaster last night as well.”

He pulled back then and tilted his head to one side. Even through his black shades, she could tell that he was studying her intently. “You were teasing me all along,” he finally decided.

“That’s a theory,” Dawn said mischievously, an enigmatic smile on her face.

“A good one?” he pressed.

“That’s for me to know,” Dawn answered, slinging her bag over her shoulder as she rose from the table, “and you to find out.” She gave him a quick wink before heading off for her day’s work.

Rick merely sat back in his chair and fought the smile at the edges of his lips. He had had a feeling before that there was something unusual about this one, but now… He watched the vibrant green energy that surrounded her, composed her, as she walked. Now, he knew…


	8. The Bright Light of Day

The farce that was Dawn’s day didn’t come to an end when her beat-up old Chevy pulled up to the Old Victorian house off of Jefferson Road in the town of Black Hills Falls. Oh no, it was just beginning.

“I’ve never known a Slayer to be so…feminine,” Xel practically purred in the back seat, inching closer to Buffy.

Her eyes widened, and she scootched even closer to the window.

“It must take _amazing_ effort,” Xel continued in a low voice, “balancing the human and demon worlds like that… Have you ever considered _experimenting_ more with the demon side of things?” The way he licked his lips with the world ‘experimenting’ made it all too clear what he really meant.

Buffy gulped. There had only ever been two demons for her – well, one since technically Angelus was the demon and not Angel… So one. Exactly one demon for her. And, while the glamour spell that Xel and Lena both wore to mask their more inhuman features was quite effective, it sure didn’t put Xel anywhere near Spike’s exalted status.

“Been there,” she assured him, “got the emotional scars.”

“Ah, a heart once broken—” Xel began.

“Keep your antennae to yourself!” Lena groused, scowling at her mate from the other end of the backseat.

Xel turned irritated eyes on her. “Like you were last night?” he snapped.

Dawn and Buffy groaned in unison. This was, what, the sixth time this argument had occurred during the brief ride? The eighth?

“This is why I usually investigate alone,” Dawn rolled her eyes in the direction of the two disguised D’vorak Demons that were too busy screaming at each other in the car to notice that Buffy and Dawn had already exited it.

“Is this a subtle hint that I shouldn’t have tagged along, either?” Buffy joked. She massaged her ear, hoping she didn’t have permanent damage from the pitch of Lena’s shriek.

Dawn smiled at that as they walked up to the door of the dilapidated two-storey house. “At least your story wasn’t ripe with recriminations,” she said with a pointed look at the demon pair that were _still_ arguing back in the car. She pondered Buffy’s account of last night’s events for a moment before deciding to reveal her additional information. “Veronica said she saw your eyes glowing. She said they were red.”

A concerned frown marred Buffy’s brow. “Red glowy eyes definitely abnormal,” she agreed.

“Were you possessed?” Dawn inquired curiously. “If that’s what this demon or whatever does, it will narrow down our research.”

“No,” Buffy insisted, “I was just…angry. Furious. I don’t know what came over me.”

Dawn considered this for a moment. “But you don’t think you were possessed?” she pressed. “You were in control of your body?”

Buffy sighed. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “It felt like it was me, but…I haven’t been that angry since—” She broke off, embarrassed to discuss this in front of Dawn. “I’m not like that,” she sounded like she was trying to convince herself, her voice slightly ragged. “I’m not…”

Dawn bit her lip and, after a moment’s consideration, rested a hand on her older sister’s shoulder. “The whole red eye thing wasn’t you,” she agreed. “That means that the hitting probably wasn’t, either. My bet is that whatever this haunting is, it’s playing with you – with all of us. From what I’ve picked up, things were pretty hectic last night.”

Both of them grimaced at Xel and Lena’s accounts of the blood-red walls. And Buffy thought back to the phantom piano player she’d seen as well. She felt a bit guilty about not divulging that part of the story to Dawn, but something about it felt so private…intimate. She just didn’t want to share. And, she couldn’t imagine that her mysterious musician was tied into all this. Something so beautiful couldn’t be evil, could it?

A resolved look crossed Buffy’s face. “I don’t like being toyed with,” she said, a hint of the old Slayer fire in her eyes. “When I get my hands on this thing…”

“I’ll be there to re-kick its ass after you’re done with it,” Dawn agreed.

The sisters shared a smile and then a giggle. Almost as soon as their laughter stopped, the distance was between them once more. But that moment was enough to remind them both of what they’d lost when they’d been estranged all those years ago.

“Are we going to _do_ anything, or what?” Lena’s testy voice broke up their awkward reflections.

“Can’t you at least _try_ to be polite?” Xel retorted immediately.

Lena gasped, offended beyond belief, and Dawn took the moment’s silence to cut off the argument. “Knock it off,” she gave them a stern scowl. “I am sick and tired of listening to you two arguing. Why don’t you both try to shut up for five minutes? Just don’t say a word, OK?” She gave them a falsely sweet smile.

Xel and Lena noticed an equally annoyed look on Buffy’s face and hung their heads in shame.

With identical head shakes and eye rolls, the sisters turned back to the door, and Dawn hit the buzzer. There was an uncomfortable silence while Buffy and Dawn waited and Xel and Lena tried their best not to start yelling at each other, until finally a figure could be seen moving behind the curtain that covered the window beside the front door.

“Ms. Collins?” Dawn asked politely when the bent old woman answered the door.

Ms. Collins blinked out at them through coke-bottle glasses. “Yes?” she asked, sparing a kind smile to the visitors to her doorstep.

“We’ve been hired by the Cascade Mountain Lodge,” Dawn began, “concerning certain disturbances they’ve been having.”

The old woman’s face instantly closed off. “What do you want?” she snapped suspiciously.

“Well, I was informed that your coven did some work up there fifty years ago,” Dawn explained.

The woman’s eyes darkened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She moved to shut the door in Dawn’s face.

Buffy’s Slayer reflexes caught it long before it closed, however. “People are dying,” she pleaded. “If there’s anything you can do to help…”

“Oh, I helped,” the old woman retorted. “Fifty years ago I helped, and all I got in return was a lifetime of pain.” She brushed Buffy’s hand from the door with surprising strength. “If you’re willing to give up your lives, go right ahead. Just leave me out of it!” The door slammed shut with a bang of finality.

The four demon hunters stood on the doorstep in surprised silence for a moment. Then:

“Well, that was a waste of time,” Lena whined. “I don’t know why I should be surprised, though.”

Xel gave her a disgusted look. “Could you possibly be any more pessimistic?” he hissed.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Lena retorted, her words practically oozing sarcasm. “Did I insult your little _girlfriend_ and her plans?”

“You shrew!” Xel exclaimed. “If you weren’t always so…”

Their voices trailed off as they stalked back to the car together. Buffy and Dawn exchanged a look.

“I don’t suppose we can walk back to the lodge?” Buffy asked hopefully.

“I’ll drive fast,” Dawn assured her before reluctantly heading in the direction of the vehicle as well.

Buffy fell into step beside her. “She knows something,” she commented, gesturing back to the house.

“Something powerful enough to frighten an experienced witch,” Dawn agreed with a concern frown.

“I’m kinda thinking we have to figure out how to kill this thing fast.” Buffy wouldn’t have admitted it, but a bit of fear was seeping into her own stomach at the unknown danger. “’Cause if last night’s any indication…”

“We’re going to end up dead and fast,” Dawn agreed. “We’ll just have to keep trying to get information out of our reluctant Ms. Collins.”

“There are no other leads?” Buffy inquired.

“She’s the last member of the original coven alive,” Dawn confirmed. A grimace spread across her face as they reached the car. “Although, if this thing doesn’t kill those two soon,” she indicated the quarreling D’voraks with a pained expression, “I may beat it to them.”

Buffy managed an amused smile at that, and together they entered to the vehicle.

* * *

The Summers sisters had each worked out several dozen plans for double homicides by the time Dawn pulled to a halt at the end of Cascade Mountain Road. Xel and Lena remained oblivious to the extreme irritation of everyone who had to put up with them for more than five minutes. Still arguing non-stop, they finally went off on their own, and Buffy and Dawn both breathed a sigh of relief.

“Justifiable homicide,” Dawn decided, rubbing her temples where a headache was forming.

“Even better,” Buffy decided. “They’re demons. That means killing them is technically part of my job description.”

“D’voraks don’t hurt humans,” Dawn felt obliged to point out.

Buffy nodded in agreement. “But most D’voraks aren’t this annoying. I’d say they’re a definite danger to the sanity of everyone around them.”

Dawn grinned at that. Actually, she was pretty impressed. She’d entered the demon hunting business with her eyes open and had quickly learned that not all species were slay-worthy. But that her sister, the queen of black and white, humans equal good, demons equal bad, finally realized it… It made her curious just how much Buffy had changed over the years. And, from what she could see so far, a lot of the changes seemed to be for the better.

“What’s with that, anyway?” Buffy continued her rant. “I mean, I thought D’voraks were supposed to be the lovebirds of the demon kingdom. Hell, most of the time I’m annoyed by them making googly eyes at each other, but these two…”

Dawn chuckled at that. “My guess is that they’re going through Shi’lann,” she ventured.

“Mating season?” Buffy’s nose scrunched up. “Don’t they usually get _extra_ cutesy then?”

OK, she was _way_ impressed that Buffy knew that. Whatever happened to the ‘knowledge boring, kill now’ philosophy?

Her look must’ve tipped Buffy off to her thoughts. “They’re really common,” she pointed out. “Sunnydale’s gotten a bit more open with the demon population since the Hellmouth closed. I pretty much deal with D’voraks on a daily basis.”

“Cool,” Dawn agreed with a smile, a bit of the girl Buffy had known slipping through. “Yeah, I’ve never encountered any as annoying as these two, either.”

“Are they mis-mated or what?” Buffy wondered.

Dawn shrugged. “Just screwed up,” she decided.

“Sucks to be them,” Buffy decided.

“Indeed.”

They shared an amused giggle, and then Dawn spotted the three rogue members of the demon hunting squad entering the lodge lobby.

“Uh-oh…” she sighed. “You ready to back me up?”

Buffy looked at John, Bob, and Tucker with disdain. “Do we hafta?” she whined.

“They might be useful,” Dawn insisted.

Buffy moaned and nodded. “I got your back,” she agreed.

The two women ignored the rather blatant stares they got as they approached, and Dawn quickly addressed John, assuming him to be the leader of the group.

“We’re meeting in the rec room at eight o’clock tonight to discuss what we learned last night,” she informed him.

John merely chuckled. “Cute thing, huh?” he addressed Bob with a nudge. “Thinks she’s in charge…”

“By rather unanimous decision, I _have_ been put in charge,” Dawn said, green eyes flashing angrily.

“Sure you have, sweetcakes,” Bob laughed, appraising her in a rather scandalous way. “I can guess how you got your votes, too…”

Before he even knew what hit him, he found his face shoved painfully into the counter of the lobby desk, his arm twisted roughly behind him in a bruising grip.

“Wanna rethink the way to talk to my sister?” Buffy asked in a false cheerful tone.

“Oh dear…” Ms. Danvers’ eyes widened at the fight breaking out in her lobby. “Is it really necessary to…?”

“Oh, it’s necessary,” Dawn agreed. She stepped up into John’s face in an odd imitation of Spike’s own trademark intimidation tactic and narrowed her eyes menacingly. “This isn’t some game for boys with guns,” she informed him coldly. “If you’re not prepared to do what it takes to beat this thing, then I suggest you leave it to the professionals. Before you end up getting yourselves killed.”

“You’re not the boss of me, toots,” John tried to maintain his bravado, but he was visibly shaken. “And, hell, like we’re lettin’ you get away with all that money.”

Dawn gave him a final scowl before turning to walk away. “C’mon, Buffy,” she said, her annoyance plain. “These losers aren’t even worth our time.”

With a final twist to Bob’s arm, Buffy let him go and followed after Dawn. “Assholes,” she grumbled under her breath.

“ _Incompetent_ assholes,” Dawn amended…

* * *

Now, Dawn had been slightly worried when she returned to her and Spike’s room. She knew that Buffy had come to see him earlier that day, and that probably implied a whole lot of angst. After all, her sister may have gotten nicer and more understanding and much less bitchy, but still… Buffy plus Spike equaled heartache.

So, she was practically floored when she entered their common room to get a quick peck on the cheek and an “afternoon, luv” from what looked to be a very happy vampire. Dawn watched in amazement as he practically floated around the room, straightening various knick-knacks and checking all their weapons absentmindedly for sharp edges.

“You’re in a good mood,” she commented, dropping her bag on the kitchenette counter.

Almost immediately it was snatched up and hung from one of the hooks the lodge provided in the closet for their luggage.

“No arguin’ there, Sweet Bit,” he agreed, humming to himself under his breath.

Dawn blinked. OK, this was getting _scary_. Fluffy, happy Spike – definitely not of the ordinary. “Did you check the basement?” she inquired, sitting down on the sofa.

He said down across from her, then practically sprang up out of the chair and began wandering around the room again as he talked to her. “Big wall ‘f knives,” he commented.

“What?” Dawn asked in surprise.

“In the restaurant’s kitchen,” he provided, grinning at the fact that he’d had her going for a minute there. “That was the most excitin’ thing I found.”

Dawn relaxed in her seat again. “Nothing hiding down there?” she pressed.

“Nothing,” he agreed. “Checked every square inch ‘f the basement. Even used your laptop to get the buildin’ plans to make sure there wasn’t any space missin’ for secret rooms. And then I looked through the records ‘f that coven Siggy told us about and—”

“Spike?” Dawn cut him off with an amused smile.

“Huh?” He blinked at her in surprise.

“You’re babbling,” she informed him with a giggle. “Now tell me what happened.”

He hesitated for a second before an eager grin spread over his face and he dashed over to the chair across from her with superhuman speed. “Slayer was here,” he admitted sheepishly.

“Yeah, I know.” Dawn was having a hard time containing her laughter. He looked like a kid on Christmas, he was so excited. “I talked to her.”

“Yeah, well…” he agreed, studying the nails of one hand absentmindedly. “Was nice was all. Talked a bit ‘bout old times, a bit about the case…”

“Spike…” Dawn began, a bit of worry sneaking into her voice.

“Nothin’ happened,” he insisted. “Just…” A bright smile lit up his face.

Dawn’s concern increased. “Spike,” she caught his hand in hers and looked directly into his eyes, “think about what you’re doing.”

“I am,” he said, the idiotic grin on his face fading to a more serious expression. “’S not like ‘m startin’ up with her again or anythin’. Just was nice to have somethin’ beyond the nastiness is all. A bit ‘f a reminder that there was good, too.”

Dawn gave him a relaxed smile at that. “Just be careful,” she requested softly. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“’ll watch my back,” he promised her. “But the Slayer’s changed. She’s—”

“I know she has,” Dawn assured him, “but we don’t know how much yet. Just…”

“Won’t run off and do somethin’ foolishly impulsive,” he promised her.

She gave him a skeptical look. “Who are you, and what have you done with Spike?” she teased.

He chuckled at that and brushed another quick kiss across her cheek. “’ll be all right. I promise, Bit. ‘m just…happy is all…”

* * *

“…Calm down, Buffy,” an eerily similar conversation was taking place in the room next door. “You don’t want to rush things.”

“I’m not rushing,” she insisted into the phone. “I’ve known I wanted this for so long… And now it’s like nothing’s changed. I mean, things have changed obviously. There’s all that stuff that happened that we haven’t even talked about yet, but… The feelings… They’re still all there.”

On the other end of the phone, Holden let out a weary sigh. “You’ve made those assumptions before,” he pointed out. “Just look at what happened with Angel.”

Buffy bit her lip at that, sobered slightly by the logical point. “This is different,” she insisted. “This time I know—”

“You’re feeling like this is the way you felt before,” Holden acknowledged. “And that’s good. That’s a sign that you’re moving beyond all that happened in your relationship before. But you’ve got to consider that maybe things have changed for him. Am I correct that you still haven’t ascertained the relationship between Spike and your sister?”

Buffy sighed at that. “No,” she admitted. “But even if… Even if I can just make things OK between us all again, that’ll be more than I ever hoped for.”

“And that’s a good place to start,” Holden agreed. “Just take things one step at a time and see how they develop.”

Buffy took a deep breath and calmed herself down. “It just feels like this could be it,” she admitted.

“And it could be,” Holden assured her. “But you have to work on acknowledging the past and keeping it behind you all at the same time.”

“I know,” Buffy grimaced at the incident the night before, “but there’s a chance that that was Big Bad related.”

“I hope so,” Holden agreed. “I certainly hope so…”


	9. The Killer Within

“Does anyone besides me get the clear feeling that this… _Haunting_ was laughing its ass off at us last night?” Dawn demanded, leaning forward on the table in front of her to address the assembled demon hunters.

“If by laughin’ its ass off, you mean borin’ the two ‘f us to death while it screws with everyone else’s heads,” Spike agreed.

“Sort of a welcome ‘nyah-nyah-nyah-nyah-nyah’,” Buffy added.

“Well, I refuse to be made fun of,” Dawn replied to the other nods she received. “We may not know how to kill this thing, but we’re sure as hell not going to be scared off by it.”

“It wasn’t the cause of my…concern last night,” Veronica provided in her usual drawl, her crimson hair combed so that it obscured her blackened eye. She shot a nasty glare in Buffy’s direction.

“See, that’s where I think you’re wrong,” Dawn pointed out. “An inordinate amount of freaky stuff happened last night – most of it involving us. I think there’s a good chance that this Haunting’s capable of possessing us. Or, if nothing else, at least influencing us. ‘Cause the only commonalties I’m picking up from all the stories about last night are that people were acting nuts and getting into fights and there were a lot of strange, glowing red lights.”

“ _I_ didn’t notice any fighting,” Lena said pointedly, scowling at Xel as she did so. The human disguises the two D’voraks wore during the day were cast aside now, and antennae were bristling as irritably as ever.

“That’s because you never notice anything, _honey_.” The epithet fell from Xel’s lips with false sweetness.

“ _You_ were the one that took—” Lena began.

“Can we not do this right now?” Buffy cut them off, annoyed.

The pair huffed but thankfully remained silent.

“OK, so we’ll all agreed that people are fighting a lot?” Dawn continued with a wry smile.

Spike, Buffy, Rick, and Veronica were all amused as well. Xel and Lena didn’t get the joke.

“Now, believe it or not, I’ve come to realize that you’re all mostly reasonable people. In the daytime, at least,” Dawn amended. “This thing seems to be working its evils more at night, so I’m betting that we’re going to have to put up with more weirdness tonight.”

“And how do we deal with this…‘weirdness’, as you so eloquently put it?” Veronica was busy intently studying her long, red-polished nails, nail file in hand to correct any potential flaws she might find.

Dawn mentally docked one name from her list of potentially reasonable people. “You claim to be a demon hunter,” she said matter-of-factly, “so prove it. You can’t tell me you’ve never dealt with psychological attacks before.”

“ _That’s_ your brilliant advice?” Veronica whined.

“Maybe if you would just shut up and _listen_ for five minutes, she would be better able to explain.”

Everyone started at the sound of Rick’s voice. With everyone else’s fondness for sarcasm, yelling, and just generally trying to boss everyone else around, they frequently forgot that the quiet man was even there.

Dawn gave him a grateful smile when she recovered from her surprise, and his lips twitched in response. The ever-present dark sunglasses prevented her from seeing any reaction other than that, however.

“Meditative techniques sometimes work in these situations,” Buffy explained helpfully.

“As does just a general awareness that you might be being manipulated,” Dawn provided. “Keep a close eye on your own actions and on those of the people around you. Anything seems strange, and you point it out. You do _not_ let things escalate out of control like they did last night.”

“A fine theory,” Lena said testily, “but we have no idea whether it’ll work in practice.”

“Lena! Be polite!” Xel snapped before turning his eyes back to Dawn and looking her body up and down in an unashamed manner.

Dawn frowned at the inappropriate attentions, as did Spike. Not-so-subtly, he moved to stand between her and the leering demon.

“We’re testing out if it works tonight,” Dawn announced, getting back on topic. “We still need to learn as much about this thing as possible. And, despite all the chaos last night, we did pick up a few clues. So, we’re still sticking to the master plan. We’ll divide up into groups just like last night—”

“I’m paired with _her_ again?!” Veronica exclaimed over-dramatically and gesturing to Buffy like she was a psychopath or something.

Dawn rolled her eyes. “No,” she said in a tight voice. “As I was about to explain, you and Spike will work together tonight. You’ll have the restaurant again. Xel, Lena, I’m giving you the game room.”

“What?” Lena said, obviously disappointed. “Rrricardo won’t be joining us?” The rolled the ‘R’ in his name for a ridiculously long time.

Rick flinched noticeably and backed away from the preening demoness.

Dawn sighed. “Buffy, Rick, you two are with me in the pool room. Now, are there any _more_ objections?” The glare she sent everyone said all too clearly that there better not be. “Let’s go then…”

* * *

“See somethin’ you like, luv?” Spike practically purred, glancing for the first time over to where Veronica was blatantly admiring him.

“Would you be shocked if I said ‘yes’?” she asked coyly. She crossed her legs, allowing her tight, red leather skirt to ride up further on her tanned thighs.

Spike licked his lips in response to the sight of bared skin. “Takes quite a bit to shock me,” he retorted with a little smirk.

“Mmm, I’ll bet,” she agreed with a deep sigh. Swinging her legs in a graceful arc, she rose from the table she’d settled herself on and approached him like a cat stalking its prey. One long red nail traced its way up the center of his chest as she stood before him, and she won a sharp intake of breath in response. “After all, you’ve got ‘Bad Boy’ written all over you…”

Spike surprised himself and Veronica by pushing away and moving to pace about the room. Displeased at this turn of events, Veronica sat back down on the table with a huff.

“So, er…how’d you get caught up in this gig, then?” he abruptly asked, trying to break up the awkward tension in the room.

Veronica let out a weary sigh. “Inherited daddy’s fortune and decided to actually _live_. Demon hunting’s a simply _fabulous_ way to get some adventure out of life.” She threw her head back in time with the ‘fabulous’, allowing the ends of her crimson locks to brush the table behind her. It was a suggestive gesture, not unlike that of a woman in the throes of passion, and all the more so to Spike who now had a clear view of the vulnerable column of her throat.

He gulped, then shook the thoughts from his head. “In it for the fun of the kill, then, ‘ey luv?” he responded with a chuckle.

“The fun,” she agreed, “and the power…” Her eyes looked like a tiger’s as she said it.

“With you on that,” he nodded, plucking a cigarette from its pack and slipping it between his lips. “You mind?” he inquired, searching for his lighter.

“Not as long as you share,” she retorted with a smile, approaching him once more.

He removed the cigarette from his mouth, and she took it, leaning in when he produced the small flame. He lit up a second cigarette for himself, and they breathed in the heady aroma of tobacco together.

“Thanks, handsome,” she said with a smile as she took another drag. “So, wild night, huh?”

Spike’s scarred eyebrow rose when their thighs brushed, but he made no comment. “Had a dull one last night, too. Was actually hopin’ for a bit o’ blood tonight.”

“An action kinda guy, are we?” she inquired, her eyes raking over his form once more.

A smile lit up his face at that. “Some would say that,” he agreed. “Although, technically, ‘m more of a blood kinda guy.” He took the smoke deep into his dead lungs and held it there for a moment, letting it warm him from the inside out before he released it through his nose in a steady stream.

“Hmm, I had my suspicions about you.” Veronica’s hand lingered over his long enough to determine that it was cool and confirm her theory. “Only the undead have skin that perfect.”

He chuckled. “Tha’s why we all agree to be turned, actually. Saves a fortune on skin-care products.”

“You’re not concerned?” Veronica asked, a well-penciled eyebrow raised. “You’re not worried that I’m going to stake you now that I know?”

A delighted guffaw followed that statement. “Oh, you’re welcome to try, luv. But keep in mind that all who tried before you met ugly ends.”

“Seems a waste, anyway,” she shrugged. “So, do I risk getting my throat snapped for asking you why you kill your own kind?”

“Gotta watch after my Bit,” he said seriously. “Help her out with her work ‘s all.”

“Ah, yes,” Veronica nodded. “This Dawn… What’s the deal with you two anyway? Tragic love that can never exist in this world?”

“Strange bird, aren’cha?” He shook his head. “Adopted her,” he explained. “Took her in and brought her up. Mind you, she was old enough that she actually did more parentin’ than I ever did.”

“Vampires watch after homeless children now?” Veronica repeated incredulously.

“Just my Bit,” he answered simply as if that statement would answer every question in the universe.

Veronica decided she didn’t care. “You’re different from the other vamps I’ve known,” she commented off-handedly.

“’m different from _everyone_ ‘ve known,” he shot back proudly, “demon or otherwise.” _Well, except for one…_ He banished the thought before it had a chance to consume him and turned a curious glance to the woman at his side. “That troubles you?”

She gave him a lazy, seductive smile. “Not at all,” she assured him. “In fact, I find it most…fortunate…” Her gaze had turned predatory once more, and their thighs and hands brushed as they sat side by side.

“Oh?” He moved away once more, neatly plucking an ashtray from the restaurant’s bar and stubbing out his cigarette in it.

“You hear the rumors about vamps, you know,” she explained, taking the ashtray he offered her gratefully.

“Rumors?” he feigned ignorance.

“Just vague things,” she continued to play their little game. “Enough to get a girl curious, though.”

“Such as?” A definite smile was quirking at the edges of his lips now.

“Just the usual stuff,” she shrugged. Her eyes rested on his sharp cheekbones, and she licked her lips. “Strength, power, _stamina_. You hear things about creativity, too. All those ideas vamps can pick up over the centuries… Not to mention those rumors that certain other… _enhancements_ come with being turned…”

He chuckled at that last one. “Don’t hear that one too often anymore,” he commented, cocking his head to one side as he studied her.

“Is it true, then?” she asked flirtatiously.

“That remains to be seen,” he retorted coyly. “What I’m surprised, is that you din’t hear all the fang mythology that goes along with it.”

“Oh, I have,” she agreed his a husky whisper, moving so that she stood between where his thighs dangled over the table edge. She could actually feel the heat of her own breath as it was reflected back at her by his cool skin. “They say there’s nothing like it,” she continued. “That moment of pain when your flesh is first pierced and then...complete and utter bliss…”

Spike felt his demon demanding to surface in response. A wave of blood-lust like nothing he’d felt in years came over him, and he wanted nothing more than to sink deep into her throat, feel her body convulse beneath him in pleasure and pain as he took her, savor the honey-coated waves of fear that settled over her body as her heart slowed and she realized that this was her final moment. His vision turned blood-red with the power of the images, and he felt his face shift, and…

“Bloody hell!” He leapt back in horror, forcing his demon down once more.

Veronica frowned at the frightened look on his face. “Are you all right?” she asked hesitantly.

He shook his head vigorously. “We’ve got to find the others,” he insisted. “Safety in numbers and all…”

“Safety from what?” Her brow furrowed for a moment before her eyes widened. “Uh…r-right…” She was stuttering with fear now. “Your friend? Dawn? She’s in the pool room, right?”

He nodded and together, although with considerable distance between them, they fled the latest near miss…

* * *

“Wait a minute,” Rick spoke up for the first time as they wandered about the pool aimlessly, “you two are sisters?”

“The last name didn’t clue you in?” Buffy shot back.

He seemed a bit flustered by this. “It is a common name,” he pointed out. “And I had thought that you weren’t working together…”

Buffy and Dawn exchanged a look. “We’re not,” Dawn admitted. “We actually haven’t seen each other in over five years.”

“It’s actually a pretty amazing coincidence,” Buffy added thoughtfully. “You don’t think…? Nah.” She shook it off.

“Ah,” Rick said, clearly curious as to the unusual circumstance but not wanting to pry.

“Our dad left when we were kids, and our mom died some years later,” Buffy explained the story but without the painful, personal details. “Dawnie was picked up by a foster family in New York after that, and—”

“Well, not _exactly_ ,” Dawn admitted sheepishly.

Buffy turned a confused look in her direction. “Social Services told me you’d been adopted by a nice married couple,” she stated.

“And you never found it even _slightly_ suspicious that my foster parents’ names were Sid and Nancy?” Dawn inquired.

Buffy obviously didn’t get it. “Why would that be suspicious?” she wondered.

Dawn rolled her eyes. “Guess which one of us has been exposed to _way_ too much punk music?” she asked rhetorically.

Buffy’s eyes widened in understanding. “ _Spike_?” she asked in disbelief. “How on earth did a vampire qualify as a legal guardian?”

“Some strings got pulled,” Dawn whispered conspiratorially. “People in the right places owed Spike some favors and…voila! Vamp-raised me.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t even know that,” Buffy shook her head. She turned back to Rick. “Hence, proving my point that we haven’t seen each other in forever.”

He nodded in response. “You seem to get on quite well for having been distanced for so long,” he commented.

Buffy and Dawn exchanged another look.

“Yeah,” Dawn admitted hesitantly, a bit of surprise in her tone, “I guess we do…”

“If you want, you can just pretend it’s because you’re made out of me,” Buffy offered.

Dawn smiled at that. “Thanks,” she agreed.

Rick looked back and forth between them, completely puzzled. “Huh?” he asked eloquently.

“Summers thing,” they said in perfect unison before both breaking out into giggles at their synchronicity.

Rick backed away slowly, convinced that, like all women, these two were crazy. Fortunately, he was saved at that moment by the frantic entrance of Spike and Veronica.

“What’s wrong?” Dawn asked, immediately on the alert once more.

“Tried to drain my partner,” Spike said simply. “Figured that fell into unusual enough behavior that we should follow our herdin’ instincts.”

Buffy studied Veronica quizzically. “It doesn’t look like you tried very hard,” she pointed out, gesturing to where the other woman’s neck was – unfortunately – still intact.

He made an exaggerated eye-roll in response. “Came here before I bit her,” he said as if it was the most elementary thing in the universe.

Dawn sighed. “Give me the symptoms,” she demanded, sitting on the stone ledge that walled off the pool’s surrounding greenery.

Spike sat across from her, position mirroring hers. “Blood-lust,” he began. “Flashbacks to previous kills. All sorts ‘f overwhelming sensations. Was like something was in the back of my head, sayin’: ‘kill, kill, kill’.”

“And that’s unusual?” Buffy commented.

She got two nasty looks in response.

“I’m just saying,” she began, raising her hands in the air defensively. “Because, y’know, instinctual thrill of the hunt and all. Plus, you always liked to…kill…things…” She trailed off pathetically. “Sorry?” she offered nervously.

Spike shook his head at her. “Valid points. Wasn’t like that. It was like…”

“What?” Dawn asked curiously.

“Seein’ red…”

* * *

Buffy smiled and hummed under her breath as she returned to her room. Even the bickering of the D’vorak odd couple wasn’t enough to sully her mood. Although, if she’d had to come into contact with them for any longer than it took to tell them that they were done for the evening, she might have changed her opinion on that matter.

Still, D’vorak contact had been limited, and Spike contact had been rather extensive. Dawn had picked their brains for anything they could remember just prior to the ‘crazy-psycho-rage’ state, as Buffy had labeled it. Unfortunately, the only thing they could come up with was that they both had the urge to kill Veronica – and that was perfectly natural.

Although, actually, Spike might not have thought so…

Buffy frowned slightly at the memory of the way the pair had been flirting. It was especially irksome given that Veronica was still flinching from her theatrically, but Spike was instantly forgiven for his transgression. Just showed how biased some people were to a pair of gorgeous blue eyes and razor-sharp cheekbones. _Yeah, and the fact that you threw her into a wall whereas Spike stopped himself in time had nothing to do with it_ , the non-jealous part of her mind felt obliged to point out.

Still, all in all, things were good. She and Dawn were talking and seemed to be getting along all right, and Spike – however peripherally – was back in her life. It was more than would have dared hope for two days ago. She began to hum louder as she cut through the lobby to get to her room.

And then she realized that the music wasn’t louder because of her humming, but because the tune she’d chosen was being echoed by the grand piano in the sitting room.

Buffy immediately froze to a halt in the hallway. She’d almost forgotten about her own personal Phantom of the Opera, given everything that had been happening of late. Especially since she was keeping the previous night’s encounter from the others.

However, as the haunting melody grew louder, there was no doubt in her mind that the elusive spirit was back. As silent as only a Slayer on the hunt can be, she crept down the hallway, her eyes trained on the cracked open door at the end of the hall.

Just as she got close enough to see through the crack, the music stopped, however. Cursing inventively in her head, Buffy flung open the door and looked inside to see that the sitting room was empty.

Swearing to herself that next time she’d catch her favorite phantom in the act, she headed off to bed and whatever dreams she’d find therein…

* * *

“Please tell me you didn’t sleep with her,” were Dawn’s first words when Spike entered their suite.

He raised an eyebrow in response.

“She’s stuck-up, annoying, and I only paired you up with her to save you the grief of having to work with Buffy,” Dawn clarified. “You were gone for an hour. Please tell me you didn’t sleep with her.”

“I didn’t sleep with her,” he promised before heading to his room without another word.

Dawn frowned at how distant he was being. “Are you all right?” she asked hesitantly. “Did something happen?” She gestured to where he’d just entered the room.

“Went for a walk,” he shrugged. “Tonight was no good, y’know?”

“Yeah…” The concern in Dawn’s eyes indicated that she didn’t quite believe him, but she let it pass. “Goodnight,” she called after him.

“’Night, Bit.” He shut the door behind him in relief. If there was one thing he loved about Dawn above all else, it was that she didn’t pry into his affairs when he didn’t want her to. And now was definitely one of those times, even though her question revealed just how well she actually knew him…

    _Please tell me you didn’t sleep with her._  
 _I didn’t sleep with her._

He could have, he knew. Veronica had made it more than clear that she would give him the ride of his life, if only he took her up on her offer. And he could say that with absolute certainty that two days ago he would have done it. He would have buried himself in her heat and lost himself to mind-numbing pleasure and just forgotten…

With an angry growl his fist slammed into the wall, cracking the plaster.

 _Dammit, nothing’s changed! You’re not like this anymore, mate. You’re not a slave to the blood-lust. And you’re certainly not the Slayer’s neutered puppy…_

Despite his internal convictions, however, sleep remained elusive for the vampire all night…


	10. Whispers in the Dark

_“Xander?”_

 _Buffy’s voice was hoarse, ragged, as she came upon the lifeless body of her friend. Black scorch marks had burned through his shirt, leaving ugly red welts across his chest. He had undoubtedly died instantly._

 _“Xander’s here?” Anya’s voice sounded hopeful as she followed Buffy into the remains of Sunnydale High School. Her face instantly paled at the sight before her, unable to comprehend it. “N-No…” she stammered before rushing over to the body of the ex-fiancé. She shook his shoulders futily three times before she finally turned back to Buffy. “Do something!” she pleaded, tears in her eyes. “Help him!”_

 _Still not fully comprehending Xander’s death herself, Buffy nodded and turned to go find Willow. Willow had brought her back from the dead. Surely, she could save Xander. It was a testament to just how traumatized Buffy was that she didn’t realize that Willow was the only one that could have hurt him in the first place._

 _Instinctively, she ran for the Hellmouth, winding her way through scorched black corridors. It seemed only fitting that this should be the place where the Scooby Gang was finally destroyed. A site of beginnings and endings…_

 _Tears streamed down Buffy’s face, and she ran harder, plowing the remains of the library doors off their hinges in her haste._

 _She froze at the sight before her. Willow, hair red once more but eyes still black, sat in a chalk pentangle in the middle of the library. An eerie, unnatural glow lit up the scene and, as Buffy watched, Willow ceased her chanting and raised a wicked-looking dagger. Before Buffy could even think to stop her, Willow slashed one palm._

 _The sound of her friend’s scream of pain coupled with the sight of blood pooling onto the floor finally brought Buffy out of her stupor._

 _“Willow,” she pleaded, “stop this.”_

 _The witch’s eyes turned to hers, and for an instant Buffy almost thought she saw the green eyes of her best friend, just plain old, innocent, ordinary Willow…_

 _The witch mask was back in a second, even though tears were sliding down Willow’s cheeks. “I have to end it,” she insisted in a shaky voice. “There’s nothing left to live for…”_

 _“Willow, don’t do this,” Buffy argued with her desperately. “There’s still—”_

 _“I killed him,” Willow hissed bitterly. “My best friend, and I killed him like he was nothing. I deserve death.”_

 _Buffy ignored the fact that she’d had similar thoughts earlier. All that mattered now was that she’d already lost one best friend; she couldn’t stand to lose another…_

 _“Please, Willow,” she begged. “There’s so much in this world—”_

 _“But not Xander or Tara!” Willow shot back. She took the knife in her wounded hand and stabbed the other palm, the wince of pain causing her to fall sideways. However, the blood offering had its effect, and the dark crack that was the Hellmouth’s only physical manifestation began to glow with an unearthly light._

 _“I’ll stop you!” Buffy insisted. “I won’t let you—”_

 _“Just try and stop me,” a bit of the old Big Bad Willow slipped out in her snide tone._

 _Brow furrowing with resolve, Buffy ran at her and crashed to a stop when she encountered the magical barrier that surrounded Willow._

 _“You can’t stop me,” Willow repeated, holding the knife in both bleeding hands. “I have to do this. For the good of the world…”_

 _“Willow, no!” Buffy shrieked, but it was too late._

 _The knife was imbedded in the witch’s gut, and she gasped in pain, trying desperately to stay conscious long enough to complete the ritual. “By the power of my blood, I bind myself to this gateway. I am its Mistress, and I command it—”_

 _The barrier before Buffy fell away with Willow’s most recent injury, and she dashed after her former friend in a desperate attempt to save the world once more._

 _“—closed forever!” Willow cried out with more strength than she should have had at that point._

 _Buffy froze, stunned into silence. Not only had the apocalypse not happened, but Willow had prevented all other apocalypses to come…_

 _“Forgive me.” The whispered words slipped past Willow’s lips as she fell to the ground._

 _Buffy ran to her once more, sobbing. “I forgive you, Willow. I love you…”_

 _And then, with a burst of flames, Willow and the Hellmouth were gone forever._

 _“No!”_  
   
 

 _Bang! Bang! Bang!_

Buffy’s eyes blinked open with a start, her body still shivering at the horrible memory. She didn’t know where she was, only that Willow and Xander were gone forever, and—

 _Bang! Bang! Bang!_

Blearily, she turned to the door and realized that someone was banging against it frantically. Instinctively, she leapt out of bed and ran for it, mindless that she was clad only in an oversized T-shirt and a pair of lacy black panties. She flung the door open wide and…

“Slayer, are you all right?” Spike’s eyes were wide with worry, and he was only wearing the red robe she’d seen him in the previous morning. His hair was a disheveled mess, indicating all too clearly that he had just been asleep as well.

“S-Spike…” she whimpered in relief, collapsing like a rag-doll into his arms, sobbing out her grief into the cool, smooth planes of his chest.

“What’s wrong, luv?” His voice was soft, the way it had been when she had first been brought back. “The spook come for you?” He looked around the room intently, every one of his enhanced senses hyper-aware.

“Willow…” she whispered, fingers clinging to the silk of his robe. “No…”

Spike breathed an audible sigh of relief. “Just a dream, then? Christ, Slayer, I thought it was killin’ you the way you were screamin’…”

Buffy gasped for air, hyperventilating slightly, and wrapped one arm around his waist to hold him tightly. She felt her fear recede and that relaxing calm overtake her as she snuggled against his chill body, listening to the soothing accent of his voice.

Spike’s expression softened at the sight of her clinging to him like a child, frightened and sobbing and… “’m so sorry, luv,” he murmured into her hair. “Know it doesn’t mean much, but ‘m so sorry…”

Her body responded to his words, and she wondered not for the first time if this was some sort of thrall he had. It was uncanny just how quickly he could make everything feel better. With that thought, the temperature of her skin seemed to rise, and she finally became fully aware of the hard body that supported her. The fingers clinging to his lapels loosened slightly and began to move ever-so-slightly against his chest. Not quite caresses yet, but the beginnings of a more intimate touch.

She pulled back enough to look into those beautiful blue eyes of his, and she felt her heart catch at the hidden passions within. Oh yes, she could bury herself in this man, forget about all her troubles, if only for a little while…

Unconsciously, her lips angled towards his, closing the distance between them.

Spike’s eyes widened, and he gasped in shock, pulling away.

Buffy froze for a minute before she realized one she’d almost done. Shakily, one hand rose to cover her mouth, a look of shocked horror on her face. “Oh my god,” she gasped. “Spike, I didn’t mean … I was just…”

What had she been thinking? His comfort was something to be cherished and returned, not used for her own selfish gains. That was the mistake she’d made last time. She’d never bothered to appreciate him, just used and used until there was nothing—

“Buffy?” Spike ventured to step forward into her room, concerned at how she seemed to have collapsed inward. He hesitantly reached out to touch her shoulder, but she crumpled at his touch, curling into a little ball on the floor and sobbing once more.

 _“You’ve an evil, disgusting thing!”_

 _“You’re beneath me.”_

 _“The only chance you ever had with me was when I was unconscious.”_

 _“You were just...convenient.”_

 _“There’s nothing good in you.”_

 _“I could_ never _be your girl!”_

 _“Soulless...”_

 _“Disgusting...”_

 _“Monster!”_

The words seemed to be whispered into her ear, reminding her of past grievances and yet at the same time…enticing her?

 _No_ , she screamed inwardly, _I’m not like that anymore. I’m not!_

Spike knelt down before her and cautiously reached out with one hand to brush a lock of golden hair from her forehead. She seemed to recover somewhat at his touch, and her eyes were focused once more when they met his.

“I-I don’t deserve it,” she said raggedly, backing away from his touch once more.

Spike immediately seemed to close off, rising to his feet once more. “Right, then,” he agreed passively, his tone gone icy cold. “’ll just be on my way…”

“No,” she whimpered, fingers tangling in the hem of his robe and turning him back to her. “Please, don’t go,” she requested, eyes still tear-stained. “I-I need to tell you…”

Spike sighed in frustration. “What, Slayer?” he demanded, scowling down at her in an annoyed manner.

“I’m sorry.”

The words were so soft that both of them were barely able to hear them.

“P-Pardon?” Spike stammered, convinced he’d heard wrong.

Buffy took a deep breath and repeated confidently this time, “I’m sorry.” Just like that, the voices whispering in her ear stopped.

Spike blinked in surprise. “’S nothing to be sorry for,” he began.

“No.” She rose to her feet and wiped away the last of her tears before venturing a shy smile up at him. “I mean I’m sorry for everything,” she clarified.

Spike’s knees suddenly felt a bit weak. Never, even in his wildest dreams, had he imagined that high and mighty Buffy would actually _apologize_ to the likes of him. Not even knowing how he got there, he landed in one of the hotel-issue armchairs.

“I’m so sorry, Spike,” she repeated, finding the words amazingly easy now that she finally allowed them to come out. “The way I treated you… It was just wrong. _I_ was wrong, and there was no excuse for it. I was so horrible to you all those years, even before I died. And then…” She sighed. “I never should have used you like that. I took your love for me, and I turned it into something dirty, and I’m so sorry. A-And that night in the alley…” The tears were back now.

He turned away from her as well, humiliation and insecurity written all over his handsome features.

“Everything I said, everything I did,” she went on. “It wasn’t you, Spike. It was me. All of that was meant for me. I just took it out on you because you were there, and it was wrong. I don’t expect you to ever be able to forgive me, but I want you to know that the monster that did that to you is gone. I slayed her once and for all.”

He looked up at her at that, a hint of a smile on his face. “Never do anythin’ by halves, do you, Summers?” he inquired.

“Completely slayed,” she agreed, her own lips quirking slightly.

“I did, you know,” he began with a sigh, running one hand through his already tousled white curls. “Forgive you. That very night I forgave you. I wouldn’t’ve even left, but Dawn…” He trailed off.

Buffy bit her lip, pondering her next statement for a while before finally responding. “I’m glad she did,” she decided. “I’m glad that there was someone there for you, someone who could save you. You deserved that. You deserved better than me.”

“I didn’t _want_ anythin’ better,” he pointed out firmly but kindly. “All I ever wanted was you.”

She bit out a bark of laughter and sat on the edge of the bed. “God, we’re fucked up,” she decided.

He grinned at that. “No arguin’ with you there, luv. No arguin’ with you there…”

* * *

“Thanks for helping me out with this,” Dawn said, slamming her trunk shut after Rick had deposited the grocery bags inside. “Most people squick at buying bags of pig’s blood from the butcher.”

“Including some butchers, apparently,” he agreed in his usual softly-accented voice.

Dawn grinned at that. “I think I freaked him out a bit,” she agreed. “It’s funny. When I grew up on the Hellmouth, the butchers looked at you oddly if you _didn’t_ tack on the obligatory two pints of blood to every order.” She walked around to the driver’s side and hopped in.

Rick mirrored her actions on the other side of the car. “What is it you have discovered about this contact?” he inquired, holding his breath as Dawn ripped out of the parking lot, taking off down the freeway at a nice, healthy pace…for daredevils, that is.

“David McKenzie.” Dawn flipped her notebook out of her pocket with one hand, the other firmly planted at the twelve o’clock position on the steering wheel. She began to read over her notes. “His mother was one of the original coven members who died and—”

“Watch the road!” Rick called out in alarm, covering his eyes.

Dawn easily steered around the van she’d come up upon, still half reading the information Siggy had handed to her. “I was taught to drive by a demon,” she explained with a mischievous grin.

“I can tell.” A little smile slipped onto his lips.

She laughed back before obeying his wishes and putting her notes aside. “I’m hoping he’ll be a bit more open than—” She trailed off when the flashing blue and red lights of a police car appeared behind her.

“I believe it is as you Americans say,” Rick began, “ ‘busted’?”

Dawn grimaced and pulled over to the shoulder, but the police car just whizzed on by, followed by a second and then a third. By the time the ambulance had passed them as well, both were incredibly worried.

“The Lodge is that way,” Rick pointed out what they were both thinking.

Dawn nodded before pulling back into the fast lane and slamming the gas down to the floor. “This can’t be good,” she decided…

* * *

Her suspicions were confirmed when the beat-up Chevy finally careened to a stop just behind the lengthening line of police cars.

“W-What’s going on?” Dawn played up the frightened, helpless woman bit as she and Rick approached the first of the officers. “M-My sister…”

“I’m sure your sister’s fine,” the officer assured her. “There was just a hunting accident, and—”

Dawn and Rick exchanged a look and didn’t bother to stick around for the rest of it. They ran into the lobby to find a gawking circle of onlookers surrounding none other than Tucker. The hunter held his arm in a sling, the bandage encompassing it red with blood.

“What happened?” Dawn demanded, shoving her way through the crowd and giving them all the evil eye.

Rick backed her up, looking quite menacing with his black sunglasses and leather. Slowly, the crowd dissipated around them.

Tucker seemed a bit stunned at first but then turned to look at her. “It was an accident,” he insisted vehemently.

“What was an accident?” she pressed.

“B-Bob and John,” he gulped. “They got to arguin’ on account of Bob’s drinking, and then Bob waved his gun and…” He shivered.

“What’s all the fuss about?” Lena whined, entering the lobby. “It woke me up from my beauty sleep.”

“Could you _be_ any ruder?” Xel shot back, antennae obviously twitching under his human guise.

“We may have had our next attack,” Rick informed them in his quiet manner while Dawn urged Tucker to continue.

“He didn’t mean for it to go off,” he insisted, hands clenched at his sides.

“Bob shot John?” Dawn clarified. “By accident?”

Tucker nodded. “The safeties were off ‘cause we’d heard something stalking around in those woods—”

Rick twitched almost imperceptibly.

However, Veronica, who had just arrived on the scene, noticed. She raised one eyebrow in his direction before turning to hear the rest of Tucker’s story.

“—and he just waved his gun and…”

“Is John dead?” Dawn asked softly. True, the trio had been obnoxious beyond belief, but Tucker had been the least rude of the three. And, anyway, _no one_ deserved to see their friend die like that.

He nodded. “John,” he agreed, “and Bob…”

Dawn frowned. “What happened to Bob?” she asked, confused.

For the first time, Tucker looked her directly in the eyes, his expression haunted. “H-He said that he wouldn’t go back to jail. And that meant he had to…had to…”

“What?” That was Veronica. Everyone was hanging on his every word now.

“Get rid of the witnesses,” Tucker finished with a gulp. “H-He turned on me and…” He gestured to his arm. “He missed; I didn’t.”

Stunned silence followed his admission.

“Oh my god…” Lena, for once, seemed truly moved by the situation. She collapsed onto one of the couches, and Xel squeezed her shoulder lightly.

“A-Are you all right?” Dawn found her own voice shaky.

He gave her a look that said he was anything but, before nodding. “Gotta go talk to the officers,” he announced, gesturing to the two policemen in the doorway before leaving them to their own devices.

“God,” Veronica shuddered, “is this part of the Haunting?”

Dawn nodded. “I think it fits the pattern…” She looked around at the assembled demon hunters. “Wait a minute,” she suddenly said with a frown, “where are Spike and Buffy?”

Everyone looked at her blankly, also surprised that the pair hadn’t come out to see what all the commotion was about.

Panic in her heart, Dawn dashed off to her room, Rick close on her heels. Her card key fumbled in the lock before Rick’s steady hands took it from her and opened the door. Dawn quickly ran through all the rooms, finding no evidence of her best friend. Panic began to turn to hysteria.

“Perhaps Buffy has seen him?” Rick suggested, concerned.

Dawn nodded and dashed back out into the hallway. Three sharp knocks, and the door to Buffy’s room opened before her.

“Hi, Dawnie, what’s—?” Buffy froze at the expression on her sister’s face. “What’s happened?”

“Spike!” Dawn gasped out. “Where’s Spike?”

“’m here, Bit.”

Buffy opened the door further so that Dawn could see Spike sitting on the edge of the bed. Dawn let out a relieved sigh when she saw that the vampire was all right.

“What’s goin’ on?” Spike demanded.

“We’ve had two more fatalities,” Dawn provided before she frowned. She suddenly noticed that Spike seemed to be wearing his robe and not much else, and she didn’t even want to guess whether Buffy had anything on under that T-shirt. It suddenly occurred to her that they would have had to have been up to something pretty intense for them not to have heard the noise in the lobby. She turned hurt, confused eyes in Spike’s direction.

He blinked and turned away in response.

“Who?” Buffy demanded, instantly on the case. “More of the guests or—?”

“John and Bob,” Dawn provided. “I got most of the story from Tucker.”

Buffy nodded. “If you’ll all just let me get dressed…” she began.

Spike got up at that and headed for the door. “Prob’ly a good idea for me, too,” he agreed. He watched Dawn and Rick leave before him and frowned when the Hispanic man’s hand brushed against Dawn’s arm ever-so-slightly as they walked together. Dawn had said she was just going to go run some errands that morning, so why – and when – had she picked up Salvatore as well?

Frowning as that strange tickle that the young man sent down his neck reasserted itself, Spike returned to his own room to get dressed and find out what had happened…


	11. The Calm

“Do you feel guilty?” Rick inquired as they walked up the icy walkway, bundled deep into their winter coats. “I feel guilty.”

Dawn flashed him an unrepentant grin. “Let the annoying people annoy each other,” she declared.

“But they’ll kill each other!” Rick insisted. “Even if Veronica doesn’t make a pass at Xel, Lena will still start attacking her and…” He trailed off, somewhat embarrassed at his long diatribe. “It would bad,” he finally finished quietly. “I personally do not feel like scraping antennae off of the pavement.”

Dawn laughed at that. “Ms. Collins refused to listen to reason, so there’s no harm in trying unreason as well,” she pointed out.

“But you don’t feel sorry for her?” he persisted. “Siccing all three of them on her at once?”

“That’s what she gets for not talking,” Dawn countered, amused. “So,” she inquired, ringing the bell, “any bets on whether our friend Mr. McKenzie will be more helpful?”

Rick shrugged just as the door opened.

The older man with sandy blond hair gave them both a curious look before his eyes widened. “You are _other_ …” he breathed in surprise.

Dawn and Rick blinked in perfect unison. Unfortunately, due to Rick’s sunglasses, the effect was completely lost.

“I-I’m sorry,” Dawn began, confused. “We were looking for a David McKenzie?”

“That’s me,” he nodded. “You must’ve known my mother.”

“Not exactly,” Dawn clarified. “We need to talk with you about the incident at the Cascade Mountain Lodge fifty years ago.”

David nodded. “Of course,” he agreed, gesturing for them to enter, “I’d read the reports in the paper. Even talked to my aunt Eustacia, but she refuses to go near the place.”

“You know what is happening?” Rick asked hopefully.

David blinked. “I just assumed…I mean…isn’t _it_ back?”

“That depends on what you mean by ‘it’,” Dawn pointed out. She and Rick was ushered further into the living room and settled down on a couch with the most appalling blue and orange floral upholstery Dawn had ever seen. “But there’s definitely some form of demonic presence,” she ventured forth cautiously. She’d long since learned that most people tended to block out any talk about the existence of demons.

David nodded. “They tried to keep me from the _other_ world,” he explained. “All of my mom’s old friends who lived… They were so afraid.”

“Afraid of what?” Rick persisted.

Dawn bit back a smile at the nervous tapping of his fingers. It tended to be the only visible sign that he was growing impatient, and she wholeheartedly agreed with him on this point.

“You should really be talking to aunt Eustacia,” David insisted. “Eustacia Collins. I don’t really know all the details.”

Dawn groaned. “Collins,” she agreed. “She slammed the door in our face after a few cryptic warnings.”

David frowned. “Yeah, I guess that would make things difficult…” he agreed. “Unfortunately…well, like I said, they tried to keep me away for what happened.”

“Just tell us what you do know,” Dawn pressed. “It’s gotta be better than the tons of nothing we’ve got right now.”

Rick and David both cracked smiles at that.

“OK,” David sighed. “Well, this is mostly pieced together from various snippets of conversations and the like that I happened to overhear…”

“Anything,” Dawn insisted.

He nodded. “From what I’ve gathered, my mom and my aunt and seven other of their friends in the area pieced together a pretty powerful Wiccan coven back before _it_.”

“This was fifty years ago?” Dawn clarified, studiously taking notes.

“Right before the Lodge was opened as a resort,” he agreed.

“It was some sort of hunting club before then, right?” Dawn broke in, flipping through the data Siggy had given her intently.

“Right.”

“And then, the old owner moved away and sold it to…Michael Danvers?”

“I’m not sure about the details,” David said apologetically. “But, yeah, that sounds right. The Danvers’ have been running the Lodge for as long as I can remember, at least.”

“And _it_ ,” Dawn scrunched her nose up at that. “Can we call it the Haunting? That’s what we’ve been using, and it’ll be less confusing…”

David shrugged.

“So, the Haunting showed up when the Lodge turned to a resort?” she pressed.

“As best I know,” he conceded. “That was when the deaths started occurring, at least.”

“Did it start right after the resort opened?” Dawn wondered, circling the question in her notebook.

He gave her an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry. I don’t really know.”

She nodded and circled the question one more time. “Go on.” She gestured for him to continue.

“Mr. Danvers, he called in a priest first,” David continued. “He didn’t believe in magic. But something happened to priest – freaked or died, I can’t remember. It’s always one or the other.”

Dawn and Rick exchanged a look.

“Eventually, he got desperate and let the coven help and…” He paused. “They did something, a spell or…I don’t know. This part has always been very hush-hush. They were trying to kill the Haunting or capture it or _something_. Things went nasty right from the start, though. My aunt and then Emily who’s been dead for a few years now – they were the only two that didn’t die within a year of the incident.”

Dawn frowned. “This was before or after the spell?” she demanded.

“I’m not quite sure,” David grimaced. “I get the impression that at least one of the coven members was dead before the spell got started. But my mother…” He took a deep breath. “She committed suicide six months after. Something happened there that she just couldn’t live with…”

Rick’s fingers had stopped fidgeting now. They were completely still. Dawn wondered if he was nervous. She was certainly getting that creepy feeling again.

“What was it?” Rick spoke up for the first time in a quite a while, startling the other two from their reflections. “The Haunting? Do you know what it was?”

David shook his head. “It was always very vague. I just know… Well, I was _warned_ not to go down to the Lodge. This thing… It plays with your head, makes you do things, act crazy.”

“Wait,” Dawn cut him off. “The coven didn’t stop it?”

“They were still afraid of it,” he shrugged.

“But if they didn’t stop it, then why did the killings stop for fifty years?” Dawn asked, puzzled.

“I…” David began hesitantly before sighing again. “They really didn’t tell me much more than to try to keep me away,” he offered as a caveat, “but I got the impression that whatever they did… They weakened it but didn’t manage to get rid of it for good. All these years, it’s like they’ve been waiting for it to come back.”

“And now it has,” Dawn commented thoughtfully.

“Perhaps the question we should be asking, then,” Rick spoke up, “is why did it come back?”

* * *

“No one shuts the door in the face of Veronica Duvall!” Veronica said primly before pounding on the shut door once more.

“Yeah!” Xel half-shouted out lamely. “Learn how to treat a lady right!” The fact that Ms. Collins technically _was_ a lady and the fact that his hand had found a rather inappropriate resting place on Veronica’s rear end apparently escaped him.

Lena swiped at Xel’s arm, causing him to cringe in pain when her claws distorted the illusion that concealed the true form of his arm for a brief instant. He cringed and cradled the arm dripping golden-yellow blood.

Veronica stamped her foot into the ground and fumed. “Come back here!” she pouted, banging the metal doorknocker when repeatedly slamming her fist into the doorbell didn’t work. “I’m not leaving until you come back!”

Lena rolled her eyes. “This is a _complete_ waste of time,” she whined. “Can’t we just back to the hotel already?”

“Do you have to be so _negative_ all the time?” Xel shot back.

“Maybe if I didn’t have to put up with _your_ philandering, I wouldn’t _be_ negative!” Lena retorted.

In time with those words, Veronica rolled her eyes and took a step back from where Xel’s hand was not-so-subtly brushing against her thigh.

“Let me in!” she screeched again, banging on the door. Then her eyes flew wide open in horror. “Dammit! I broke a nail!” Her squeal was loud enough to cause both D’voraks to flinch.

“God, she’s pathetic,” Lena announced, crossing her arms over her chest defensively. “I don’t know _what_ you can possibly see in her…”

“Maybe I wouldn’t look elsewhere, if I didn’t have you listen to your bitching twenty-four hours a day!” Xel hissed.

“Do you have a manicure kit I can borrow?” The desperation in Veronica’s voice as she continued to bang on the door increased.

Needless to say, all the neighbors were gawking like space aliens had abruptly landed in their front yard. Black Hills Falls was just a tiny resort town out in the middle of nowhere; this wasn’t the sort of high-quality entertainment you just let pass by.

“You cheating—!” Lena began.

“ _I’m_ the one who’s cheating?!” Xel screamed.

“I think I’m getting frostbite!” Veronica whined.

The door creaked open.

“Goddess, won’t you people just _go away_?!” Ms. Collins yelled furiously.

“Nail file,” Veronica repeated, her expression panicked. “Now!”

Ms. Collins let out a weary sigh. “Fine,” she grumbled, leaving the door open for the three of them to enter. She cast a pointed glare in the direction of the neighborhood busybody’s house, and the dark curtains fell back into place over the window guiltily.

Veronica practically cooed in relief when the proper beauty supplies were placed in front of her. She frantically set about on her important task while Xel and Lena fought over who was going to sit where. Lena was absolutely adamant that Xel not be allowed even in the remote vicinity of Veronica.

Ms. Collins tried to remember why she’d let them in in the first place. Oh yeah, right: if she was going to be annoyed, she might as well do it within the comfort of her own home without all the neighbors spying on her.

“What do you want?” she bit out angrily.

“Do you have any Frappuccino?” Lena asked hopefully.

Xel scowled at her.

Veronica spoke up. “We want to kill the thing down at the Lodge,” she said matter-of-factly, “and there’s a lot of money at stake, so I suggest you don’t make us angry.”

Mr. Collins’ eyebrow rose at the rather non-threatening spectacle the three of them made. Well, unless they were going to annoy her to death…which, admittedly, was a very real possibility. “I don’t know how to kill it,” she said simply. “Now go.” She rose to usher them out.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Lena informed her primly. “If I have to be stuck on assignment with the queen of slut-ville, than you had _better_ provide us with some useful information.”

“ _Slut_?!” Veronica screeched in indignation.

“Be polite!” Xel hissed just loudly enough for everyone to hear.

Ms. Collins felt her patience rapidly dissolving to nothing. “We tried a spell to drain its energy,” she said tersely, moving over to the bottom cabinet by the mantelpiece and opening it to reveal a shelf of old books. She plucked one out. “We weren’t strong enough to completely kill it.” She shoved the book into Veronica’s newly re-manicured hands. “Now, _go_. It’s clear that it’s already gotten to you, and I don’t want it to get to me, too.”

Veronica blinked down at the book in her hands in surprise. “Er…thanks,” she said, still slightly baffled as to how they’d gotten the old woman to cave in so easily.

“Go.” Ms. Collins repeated.

Veronica moved to stand up. Xel moved to stand up at the same time. Lena knocked him down, stood up herself, and stood firmly between the two of them before she let Xel rise. Veronica rolled her eyes and shook her head. Together, with much jostling between the married pair, the three of them made it to the door.

“Believe me most wholeheartedly,” Ms. Collins snapped, “that I hope you never come back.”

Veronica, Xel, and Lena blinked when the door was once more shut in their faces.

“Jeez, was what _her_ problem…?”

* * *

Buffy frowned as she entered the lobby. Ms. Danvers just gave her a polite smile in response. Buffy pointed to the banner. “Are you sure that’s such a good idea right now?” she felt obliged to ask.

“It’s an annual tradition,” Ms. Danvers insisted, “and quite possibly the only way to avoid bankruptcy.”

Buffy raised a skeptical eyebrow at the large lavender poster, filled with outlines of elegant figures dancing and the words ‘Winter Ball’ written in precise, black calligraphy. “Either that, or a dozen for the price of one snack bar,” she pointed out.

Ms. Danvers pointed to the seven o’clock time listed on the poster. “It will end before our local spook likes to come out,” she insisted. “Most of the guests will be gone by then.”

Buffy sighed wearily. “Have you cleared this with Dawn yet?” she demanded.

“Simon assures me that there is little danger,” Ms. Danvers assured her.

“Of legal culpability?” Buffy repeated Spike’s sentiments of the first night. “You’ll excuse me if I don’t exactly find that reassuring…”

“Ever since your arrival,” Ms. Danvers informed her primly, “there have been no incidents whatsoever involving the other guests.”

“Which is like what?” Buffy retorted. “A dozen people at most? This place isn’t exactly full at the moment. Just how many guests _do_ you still have?”

Ms. Danvers frowned. “Aside from demon hunters?”

Buffy nodded, her posture indicating all too clearly that she wouldn’t let this matter slide.

“Eighteen.” Ms. Danvers sighed. “If this keeps up, soon they’ll be no one left…”

Buffy gave her a sympathetic smile. “We’re working on it,” she assured the elderly woman.

She got a ghost of a smile in response. “I can’t lose this ball,” she insisted. “With no guests and…” Her features were drawn, weary. This situation was obviously weighing heavily on her mind.

“Hey, this thing only seems to make people kill each other,” Buffy pointed out with false brightness, “so as long as weapons aren’t allowed…” She trailed off. “Plus, the whole infamy of haunted houses. You could play that up. Give tours of the places where people died…”

Ms. Danvers cocked her head to one side curiously. “Amazing…” she breathed.

Buffy frowned. “Huh?” she said eloquently.

“Nothing,” Ms. Danvers shook her head with a smile. “You just remind me of someone I knew long ago, back when I was young…” She trailed off nostalgically before shaking it off and answering the phone.

“Right,” Buffy shook off the oddness of the encounter as well and headed back for her room.

She paused briefly outside the door to Spike and Dawn’s suite and worried her lower lip between her teeth. After the meeting in which everyone had been given assignments except her… (Well, technically, her assignment was to wait around until Tucker left his room and then try to get more information out of him. Given that the door hadn’t opened all day, it was essentially the equivalent to having no assignment, though.) But Spike had retreated into his room and stayed there.

Buffy could almost feel the itch beneath her skin, begging her to return to his embrace. She knew it hadn’t meant anything – just the comfort of an old friend – but she had never dared to hope that she would feel his arms around her once more, and now that it had happened…

Ah, how she regretted that she had been too distraught to savor the moment…

However, despite Spike’s tender candor to her that morning, he had distanced himself from her during the meeting and now even more so. Buffy didn’t know what to make of it. She didn’t think he was angry with her…well, except over what happened seven years ago…although, actually, he had said that he wasn’t angry about that… And she knew she was obsessing. It was just…

“Spike,” she sighed, banging her forehead against the door lightly. “Do you have any idea how much you’re driving me crazy?”

Not surprisingly, the door had no response for her. With a wistful sigh, Buffy returned to her room. She had a feeling that she was going to need all the sleep she could get. Especially if these first few days were any indication…

* * *

Spike sighed when he heard Buffy return to her room. He continued to lay back on the couch in the common room and absentmindedly munched at the bowl of Chex Mix he’d made Dawn go out and buy him. Now, he knew it was exceedingly silly to hide from her like this. He should have just gone to the door and invited her in for…what exactly?

 _“Do you have any idea how much you’re driving me crazy?”_

Oh, he was sure he did. Especially if his own mental state was any indication.

His unlife had been great after he left Sunnydale, he now abruptly decided. Women, booze, all the violence he needed what with Dawn’s propensity for pissing off dangerous demons… It had been a grand time. He even had his own little surrogate family with the Bit and Siggy.

But now…

Something had died in him the day he left Sunnydale, he realized. Something that had allowed him to exist in a happy, ignorant bliss all these years. Maybe it had stayed with Buffy all this time, he mused a bit giddily, and she’d returned it without his knowing.

Whatever it was, it was making Spike imagine possibilities that he hadn’t thought of in years. Fiery hazel eyes and a spitfire sarcasm in the face of all peril and… A part of him was alive again that had been dead for a long time.

And it scared him.


	12. Afternoon Conversations

“Spike, you here?” Dawn shouted out, kicking off her shoes and scattering various bags of paraphernalia around her as she entered their suite.

“No,” came the sarcastic retort, “I decided it’d be a bloody brilliant idea to work on my tan.” There was some scuffling from the direction of Spike’s bedroom. Knowing him, he’d managed to get unnecessarily naked in her absence and was now remedying the situation.

Dawn rolled her eyes. “You’re not getting out of research _that_ easily,” she informed him. “Now get your skinny, white butt out here.”

A long string of exclamations that were quite obviously bizarre, incomprehensible curse-words followed Dawn’s proclamation. They were punctuated by yet another crash.

Rick just sort of stood in the doorway, looking mildly stunned.

“Please tell me you don’t need an invitation,” Dawn said with a quirk of her lips.

That quiet smile lit up his face and he ran a nervous hand through his ebony locks before stepping over the threshold. “No invitation necessary,” he assured her.

“Good,” she agreed. “Now, shut the door. It’s getting cold in here.” She shivered slightly at the December Colorado air that leaked into the open hallways of the inn.

Rick did as she asked, gazing around the room curiously. “Nice room,” he commented. “Much more spacious than the single rooms.”

“That’s why it always pays to make unreasonable demands,” Dawn grinned up at him from where she was snuffling around in one of Spike’s duffel bags. A profusion of various pointy instruments and black garments fell out in a haphazard manner. “Dammit, where did you put it?” she grumbled under her breath, studying Spike’s complete lack of organization with something akin to despair.

“You’re looking for something?” Rick’s accented voice was unnecessarily hushed. He felt strangely out of place in this situation, like he was being hidden away from the vampire’s watchful eye.

“Laptop,” Dawn nodded in similar subdued tones. “It’s – surprise, surprise – black. Let me know if you see it around anywhere.”

Through the darkened lenses of his glasses, Rick studied the contents of the table beside him. An axe almost as large as he was made him shift nervously. He shook his head as well at the complete chaos that seemed to follow Dawn’s undead partner.

“Aha!” Dawn exclaimed in delight. She brushed aside the grimy old blanket Spike used for his daylight excursions and produced the shiny black rectangle she’d been seeking. “Book?” she requested.

Rick promptly released the thick tome they’d picked up from Veronica when they’d run into each other in the parking lot. “I still cannot believe that she convinced Ms. Collins to give us this.”

Dawn nodded. “Never underestimate the power of annoyance,” she agreed. “What I’m amazed at,” she flipped open the book to the marked page, “is that she actually handed the book over to me. It would have been—” She paused at the cryptic writing within. “Or maybe she couldn’t have read it,” she hastily amended.

Rick peered over her shoulder curiously. “Can you read it?” he inquired.

“Not off the top of my head,” Dawn agreed. She turned back to the closed door. “Spike!” she demanded loudly.

“Research innit about to fly away,” he grumbled sourly, bursting forth from the bedroom. His eyes narrowed for a second when they landed on Rick, but he promptly turned his attention back to Dawn. “Siggy get a hold of you?” he demanded.

Dawn frowned. “She was trying to?”

“Kept callin’ me and demandin’ whether you had your cell-phone,” he insisted. “Told her you probably had the damn thing turned off.”

Dawn removed the small phone from her pocket. “On,” she defended herself, showing it to him.

“Don’t yell at me,” he grumbled. “Siggy was the one that couldn’t call you.”

Dawn sighed. “The reception’s a bit sketchy in the mountains,” she commented, looking down at the silver device in her hand with disappointment. “What did she say?”

“Bugger if I know,” Spike shrugged. “Was half asleep at the time.”

Dawn rolled her eyes.

Spike stalked right into the common room, keeping the corner of one eye fixed suspiciously on Rick the entire time. “Slayer stopped by,” he commented offhandedly.

Dawn looked up at him in surprise.

“Or slipped a note under the door, at least.” He held up the flier in one hand.

“ ‘Winter Ball’?” Dawn read quizzically. “We’re celebrating what now? All the suicides and murders?”

Spike snorted his agreement. “More like insatiable greed,” he agreed. He dropped the flier onto the table and plopped down onto the sofa beside Dawn…and directly between her and Rick.

If the Hispanic man noticed Spike’s defensive behavior, he didn’t let it show. “This Haunting seems to thrive on human confusion,” he pointed out. “A celebration of this sort is likely to lead to disaster.”

“Yeah, that was kinda my point,” Spike shot back sarcastically.

Dawn elbowed him in the ribs. “Rude much?” she scolded him before frowning down at the book in front of her once more.

“Whatcha got there?” Spike inquired curiously, squinting at the book and sniffing the air slightly as if that would tell him anything.

“The Collins woman finally coughed something up,” Dawn informed him. “What do you think of the language?”

He frowned. The spell itself was written in a sprawling, spidery hand and was quite clearly German. It was the segment of text below that was the mystery. Blocky red…letters? symbols?…formed a regular series of columns that left him baffled.

“’S not human,” he finally pointed out.

Rick ventured to peer over the back of the couch to see what had the pair of demon hunters so perplexed. “How can you tell?” he inquired curiously.

“The script’s an old demon one, used predominantly in the Kassite area a few thousand years back,” Dawn provided. “I’m not having much luck reading it, though.”

“Obscure, dead demon dialect,” Spike agreed with an exasperated shrug.

They looked at each other. Blinked.

“We _sooo_ need Siggy,” Dawn decided.

Spike scowled. “Don’t see how she’s gettin’ here,” he pointed out.

“Well, you see,” Dawn teased in a patronizing manner, “they have these new inventions called ‘cars’ and, with them, it is now possible to travel long distances in very short amounts of time.”

“Except Siggy’s got no way ‘f gettin’ a hold of a car,” Spike refused to rise to the bait.

Dawn gave him a pleading look.

“No,” he insisted stubbornly.

A sniffle.

“No!” he repeated vehemently.

“Uh…what is happening?” Rick asked confusedly, feeling very much like the train of conversation had derailed on him several turns back.

“Spike’s just being his normal greedy self,” Dawn provided before turning back to him. “C’mon,” she insisted, “you know we can’t afford a rental for—”

“That woman is _not_ getting behind the wheel of my baby!” Spike insisted vehemently. “For cryin’ out loud, Bit, she’s a scarier driver than you!”

“She’s never been in an accident,” Dawn pointed out.

“That’s because all vehicles and pedestrians flee the instant they see her!” Spike insisted.

“And who crashed whose car into the lake in Central Park?” Dawn demanded, accusingly.

“There were mitigatin’ circumstances!” Spike exclaimed. “And if this is payback…”

Dawn rolled her eyes. “I’ll owe you for life if she crashes it,” she promised.

“Bloody well right, you will,” he shot back.

“So…we can’t read that now?” Rick broke into the little argument the other two had become trapped in.

Spike rolled his eyes. “Spell’s just your usual jammerin’. ‘So and so poofy nature god, make this boring incantation work if I kiss your ass enough’…”

Dawn just shook her head. Sometimes Spike got too irritating even for her to handle. “The coven just did this spell,” she commented. “Which, really, looks just like a juiced up containment spell. But this text…” She sighed. “I’m willing to bet they didn’t even translate it. You know, I’d give a lot right now to know where they got this book…” She flipped it closed and studied the blank, leather cover as if it would answer all her questions.

“Looks like time for another trip to the Collins place,” Spike sing-songed. “Hey, you, whelp. Why don’t you get gone and make yourself useful?” He leaned back into his seat, stretching out his limbs and plopping his feet down on the coffee table as he did so.

Rick’s lips tightened to a hard line and for a second…

Spike blinked. He hadn’t really seen the red flash in the other man’s eyes, had he?

“Knock it off!” Dawn hissed at him angrily. She gave Rick an apologetic look. “Vampires in the morning…” she assured him.

Rick’s expression was inscrutable. “Of course,” he agreed politely, turning for the door. “I’ll just leave you to your work…”

Dawn was about to object but gave up when she saw the scowl on Spike’s face. “I’ll see you at the meeting this evening,” she assured him. “If we have anything by then, we’ll let you know.”

Rick gave her a quick nod, and then he was gone.

“Good riddens,” Spike shuddered slightly before snatching the book from her lap and studying it.

Dawn felt what little patience she had left snap. “What on earth was that about?” she demanded.

“What?” Spike said with wide-eyed innocence, leafing randomly through the spell book.

“Ridiculous testosterone display?” Dawn suggested. “This ringing any bells?”

“He’s a soddin’ wanker,” Spike shrugged dismissively. “Don’t see why you were lettin’ him follow you around anyway.”

Dawn blinked. “ _Me_?!” she demanded. “At least I’m not having mysterious bedroom encounters with my abusive ex!”

Spike blinked in surprise. “You’re jealous!” he accused.

“No, you are!” Dawn insisted.

“No, ‘m not!”

“Well, I’m not either!”

They both had their arms crossed over their chests by now, nose to nose in their argument.

“Then…” Dawn began hesitantly, “what on earth are we fighting about?”

Spike frowned at that. “Absolutely no clue,” he agreed.

Dawn looked right into his eyes, head tilting this way and that.

“What’re you doin’?” he asked, baffled.

“Searching to see if they’re red,” she provided. “I’m starting to wonder…”

“What?”

She shook her head when the crimson glow she’d heard described so often didn’t present itself. “Never mind,” she insisted.

“No, I do mind,” he countered. “You just accused me of—”

“All right,” Dawn sighed wearily, slumping back in her seat. Sometimes, it was scary how incoherent her conversations with Spike were. They’d definitely known each other for _way_ too long… “You’re being…weird about Rick,” she pointed out.

“Because you’re sneakin’ off on him on these odd ‘missions’ ‘f yours,” he countered.

“Odd missions?” Dawn asked incredulously. “I told you exactly where we went!”

“No, you told me where _you_ were goin’,” he countered, crossing his arms over his chest like a child and sulking. “Din’t mention a bloody thing about ‘ _Rrricardo_ ’.” He affected the same ridiculous trill and high-pitched squeal that Lena used when she was about to pounce upon Rick. It was actually kind of scary.

“What is your problem with him, anyway?” Dawn demanded. “You’ve been giving him these nasty looks all along.”

“Somethin’s not quite right with that one,” Spike commented, serious once more. “He just sets off this li’l itch…” He scratched the back of his neck in response.

Dawn frowned. Spike might be irritating with his protective big brother act, but his senses were rarely wrong and he _never_ lied to her. “Does it have any connection to what’s happening here?” she inquired.

He sighed. “Can’t pin it down,” he admitted, “but there’s somethin’ unnatural about that one. He wears sunglasses in places where _I’m_ squintin’, for crying out loud!”

“I had wondered about the sunglasses at night bit,” Dawn agreed. “That’s taking the ‘cool shades’ act a little too far…”

Spike’s brow furrowed as he tried to remember something. “You ever seen ‘im without ‘em?” he finally asked.

Dawn frowned as well. “I’m sure I…” she trailed off. “I can’t remember,” she finally admitted.

“Guess you and your new boyfriend aren’t so close, after all,” he commented snidely before snatching up the tome once more. Which was obviously a completely useless act since they’d already established that he couldn’t read the demonic script.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Dawn pointed out, “and you can’t just keep chasing away every guy like ever looks at me.”

“Why not?” he demanded somewhat unreasonably.

Dawn sighed at the wounded expression that he was trying so hard to conceal and scootched over to him so that she could rest her head on his shoulder. “One of these days I’m going to find someone,” she pointed out. “I’m not a kid anymore.”

“I know,” he agreed with a sigh, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. “I just…”

“That doesn’t mean you’ll be alone again, though,” she pointed out gently. “You know we’ll always be family, right?”

He gave her a soft smile. “Right,” he agreed.

She smiled at him and then her expression turned demanding once more. “Now, why exactly did I find you in Buffy’s bed this morning?” she interrogated him.

He gulped. “Wasn’t anythin’,” he insisted. “She just had this nightmare and started screamin’, so I thought she was dyin’ and I ran in and…”

Vampires didn’t really have circulation the same way that humans did. They were pretty much pale all the time. However, that didn’t mean that there weren’t subtle differentiations in skin tone that could be provoked by various emotional responses. And Dawn had known Spike long enough that she could pick out every one.

In short, Spike blushed; Dawn noticed.

“Spill,” she demanded in a voice that brooked no argument.

“It was nothin’,” he insisted, nervously pulling back and scratching the back of his head.

“You slept with her?” Dawn guessed.

“Bloody hell!” he exclaimed in shocked disbelief. “’f course, I din’t—”

“You’re in love with her again, then,” Dawn guessed. “Or is it still…?”

He was indignant by now. “There’s no way I—”

“Spike…” Her tone held a note of warning.

“Was just…nice,” he defended himself, waving his hands around vaguely.

“Nice?” she repeated.

“Getting rid of some ‘f the old emotional baggage,” he agreed.

“Uh-huh.” It was physically impossible to look any more skeptical than she did right now.

He let out an exasperated sigh. “OK, so yeah, ‘s occurred to me that…she’s still Buffy only… _nicer_ to me.”

“Uh-huh.” Dawn had a quirking smile on her face now.

“Doesn’t mean anything, though,” he insisted, all puffed-up bravado. “’m my own man now, and I don’t need her to—”

She cut him off with a hand on his shoulder, her expression worried. “Just be careful,” she requested. “She’s already hurt you once and…”

He nodded numbly. “Nothin’s probably gonna happen anyway,” he assured her. “After all, I haven’t felt…” _Anything since that night in the alley…_

Dawn seemed to hear the unspoken words and caught him up in a fierce hug. “I worry so much about you sometimes,” she confessed.

He stroked her throat when he’d marked her affectionately. “’ll be all right, li’l sis,” he assured her. “Takes more’n a Slayer to bring me down.”

She smiled at the rarely-used epithet. “Just so long as you watch your back, big brother,” she agreed, “only not in the creepy 1984 ‘Big Brother’ sense,” she hastily amended.

He grinned at that. “Got you to watch my back, too,” he reminded her.

“You do,” she agreed with a little sniffle.

He let out a groan at the sentimentality of the moment. “We’re out of Chex Mix,” he promptly announced out of the blue. He pulled free of her grasp and held up the empty bag in distaste.

Dawn rolled her eyes at the totally unsubtle diversionary tactic. “God, you’re hopeless,” she decided.

“Completely,” he agreed, kicking his feet up on the table and tilting his head back to catch all the crumbs that poured out of the Chex Mix bag. A good portion of them ended up all over the couch.

Dawn flinched. “You are so cleaning that up,” she informed him.

“Make me,” he shot back.

She gave him an evil smile. “So, what was your answer to ‘are you still in love with Buffy’?” she asked with false sweetness.

Instantly, he was on his feet. “All right, already, ‘ll clean it up,” he conceded his defeat…


	13. Day Stalkers

“Nothing.”

Veronica’s droll comment summarized the past frustrating week only too well.

“I’m starting to _really_ hate this thing,” Buffy complained, hands balling into lethal fists that – thankfully – had the presence of mind not to do serious damage to the décor.

Dawn could sympathize with her sister’s impatience. Chewing absentmindedly on her much-abused and equally loved ‘Mr. Grip’ pen, she studied the seemingly chaotic mess of notes before her, hoping that some divine insight might bring sudden clarity to the mystery before them.

“So now we’re _complaining_ that this thing isn’t attacking us nightly?” Lena’s now-familiar nasal voice demanded.

Xel shot his mate a look of pure disgust. “We can’t very well kill it if it won’t show itself, now can we?” he shot back in the most condescending tone he could manage. He directed a smile in Dawn’s direction that was half leer.

Not-so-subtly, Spike inched forward on the couch beside her, blocking the D’vorak Demon’s view. Surrogate little sister safely protected from unwanted demon attentions, he turned his focus to the scattered notebooks on the coffee table. “Maybe we should just try to make it decipher your handwritin’, luv,” he teased with a look of concerted distaste at the chicken-scratch before him. “Send it runnin’ away screamin’.”

Buffy snickered at the comment before catching herself and placing a hand over her guilty mouth.

Spike looked up in surprise at the sound, only to find her looking everywhere but at him. With a frown, he turned his impatient attentions back to the meeting.

Dawn was just about fed up with the whole situation. While the Haunting hadn’t been causing any trouble lately, Spike – and his unwitting accomplice, Buffy – had more than filled the void.

At first it had been humorous, given all of Spike’s recent philandering, to see him as shy as a schoolboy with his first crush. Dawn had only seen rare flickers of the William side to his personality since he’d first fled Sunnydale, and it had been a bit of a refreshing break from the nearly-perpetual Big Bad bluster she’d had to put up with for the last five years.

Not that the Big Bad was gone. Oh no, that would be far too simple.

Rather, Spike seemed to be bouncing back and forth between the two now like a ping-pong ball on steroids. He’d been consistently difficult about lending Siggy his car until one day Dawn had randomly caught him in William-mode and he’d caved in in all of two minutes. He’d, shockingly, made no complaint whatsoever when Dawn had dragged him out to get proper undercover clothes for the Winter Ball, but then he’d gone into gloomy tirades about every single endeavor of the next two days.

And Buffy was just as annoying. The two of them had apparently subconsciously developed this system whereby they intentionally drove each other – and Dawn – completely insane.

It had started off with the eye-contact thing. Whenever they were in the same room together now, they’d spend all their time staring at each other…only they’d never let the other catch them at it. Dawn had had to put up with hours of eyeball-tennis where Spike pretended to be studying his boots intently anytime Buffy looked over at him and Buffy found the wall decorations fascinating in an effort to remain nonchalant every time he glanced her way.

It was worse when they were forced to talk. They’d both turned as skittish as scared rabbits and fled the scene the instant their mumbled messages were passed on.

As a result, both were irritable and difficult as only Spike and Buffy could be, but then they were in good company.

“OK, tonight’s the big one,” Dawn announced to the assembled group. “Since the inn—” she scowled in memory of her futile argument with Ms. Danvers’ lawyer and shot Ms. Danvers a nasty look just in reminder, “—refuses to cancel, we’re all going to have to be at the top of our game.”

“We care, why?” Veronica drawled, nail file in one immaculately well-manicured hand.

“Evil thingy? Making everyone go crazy? Tried to kill you twice already?” Buffy suggested sarcastically.

Spike snickered.

Buffy looked over at him.

Spike looked back down at his boots.

Dawn rolled her eyes.

Veronica gave Buffy a nasty scowl. “But we’re not going to do anything,” she lamented in a bored drawl. “Why do we even need these meetings anymore?” She studied the sleek black skirt of her evening dress and removed an imaginary piece of lint.

Ah yes, Veronica had been even more uncooperative than usual in the past week, largely because her guaranteed conquest of Spike had inexplicably not occurred yet. He still flirted with her shamelessly, but even more shamelessly he hadn’t seen to her needs on any of the nights she’d not-so-subtly invited him back to her room for a drink. Veronica was completely baffled by his reticence.

“Seems to me,” Tucker’s irritated Southern twang cut in, “that you folks’re all talk and no action.”

“When we find out how to kill it, we will. We’re just waiting for the translator on that spell book,” Dawn insisted, exasperated. “But until then, all we can do is try to minimize the damage it causes.”

“So you’re just gonna party a while and then kill this thing?” Tucker sounded completely unconvinced. “Great plan. Wonder why none of us thought of that.” He moved to stride out of the recreation room.

“Well, that was the shortest-lived team effort ever,” Lena responded with bored indifference.

“Can’t you be polite for just _one_ meeting?” Xel snapped back angrily. He tried to flash an obsequious smile Dawn’s way, but Spike was still strategically blocking his view. One glance at the murderous look on Buffy’s face had him turning his attentions to Veronica and trying his charms there. He gave her an oily smile.

Tucker scowled in Lena’s direction. “I don’t need in any smart-aleck remarks from a…whatever you are. You all can have your little club meetin’s all you want. Me, I’m gonna put an end to the thing that killed John and Bob.” He picked up his rifle from beside the door and shouldered it.

“And you criticized _me_ because my plan was ‘just kill it’?” Dawn countered, stepping in front of the door and cutting him off. “You’re the only one that’s seen this thing kill,” she pointed out. “Did you see anything you could shoot?”

Tucker’s face fell in response to that.

“And what exactly are you going to accomplish running off half-cocked like this?” she demanded, arms crossed over her chest in a no-nonsense manner.

“Getting’ away from bossy little things like you,” Tucker shot back. He attempted to tower over her in an intimidating manner.

Dawn, who had once had to stand up to two Breral Demons in full frenzy-mode, didn’t even blink. “We’re forgetting the lessons we learned from Bob and John’s deaths so quickly?” she retorted bitingly.

“The Haunting has taken control over many of us,” Rick spoke up in Dawn’s defense, his accented voice echoing loudly in the otherwise silent lodge. “We have had some success in overcoming its influence.”

“Run out there alone tonight,” Spike grudgingly had to agree with the other man, even if the guy was obviously a tosser, “and ‘m willin’ to bet we’ll find out you blew your own brains out come mornin’.” He lit up the cigarette between his lips, obviously not caring one way or another which eventuality occurred.

It was this disinterested perspective that convinced Tucker most. The others all had their own reasons for wanting him to stick around, but someone who just didn’t give a damn… Well, they had no real reason to do anything but speak the truth.

“That thing’s out there,” he insisted. “We felt it.”

Rick spoke up. “There will be over a hundred people gathered in the ballroom this evening,” he pointed out logically. “It is the only place for this Haunting to strike.”

Tucker cast a grudging nod in Rick’s direction and slumped back against the wall. In the two days since he’d agreed to have a go at being a team player, Rick had been the only person he’d really listened to. He refused to take orders from the “uppity women,” and his distaste for “freaks” like Xel and Spike was apparent in every sneer he cast their way.

Present crisis averted, Dawn turned back to the group as a whole. “Since the establishment,” she cast a nasty look to where Ms. Danvers was seated in the corner, watching the proceedings with calculated interest, “refuses to cancel this event, the only thing we can really do is try to run interference. Almost all of us have encountered the Haunting in some form or other. We all know what to look for. We have to mingle with the guests and hope we can break up any disturbances before chaos breaks out.” Another pointed look in Ms. Danvers’ direction. “You do realize how potentially dangerous this could be, right?” she demanded.

“ _Your_ job,” Ms. Danvers gave her an irritated look, “is to make sure this ‘Haunting’ or whatever you call it doesn’t drive me out of business.”

Dawn bit her lip at that because it was true and she felt like they’d accomplished very little so far. She only hoped that when Siggy arrived the day after tomorrow she’d be able to glean some valuable information from the spell book Eustacia Collins had given them.

“Then,” Dawn decided with a weary sigh, “I suppose we all just have to get ready for tonight and hope for the best…”

* * *

Buffy found it a rather restless afternoon. Aside from their own unusual band of allies, the inn was almost entirely deserted. The hallways seemed to echo with an eerie silence as she walked through them, and whenever she happened upon one of the sparse guests, they both leapt in surprise at seeing another person. It was hard to imagine that in only a few hours this place would be packed. If their Haunting had been waiting for an occasion to cause mischief, that would certainly be it.

To tell the truth, this place was giving her the creeps more every day. Like Dawn, she had the inescapable feeling that something bad was coming, and the longer she was trapped within these walls, the more in danger she felt.

Even the elation at seeing Spike and Dawn again was beginning to wear off. Even though it had only been weeks, already it felt as though they’d spent eternity here, as if time stretched out longer in this place, allowing them to live years in a matter of days.

She was frustrated that nothing seemed to be happening with Spike, of course. Their occasional moments of camaraderie were always interrupted by long stretches in which he seemed not even to be aware of her existence. All his flirtations lately had been directed at Veronica, with even occasional comments thrown Lena’s way, but he shut up like a clam around her. It was more than infuriating.

And the frightening part was that sometimes she wondered if it would just be better if nothing happened between them. He had obviously gotten on with his life without her, and he didn’t seem to have feelings for her anymore, so why shouldn’t she just let him go off and be happy after this mission was over? After all she’d put him through back in Sunnydale, he surely deserved to get away from her if that was what he wanted. And, given the way he acted most of the time, she was almost confident that was what he _did_ want.

But, then, every so often…

They were just glimpses, really, maybe nothing more than some kind of intuition, but they gave her hope that some of the fire that had once burned between them was still there, and it was just waiting to engulf them once more.

What was most frustrating was that she hadn’t been able to get in a good talk with Holden about her various life dramas for almost a week now. For some unknown reason, cell-phone communication seemed to be spotty at the lodge. It got worse whenever it snowed, and the flurries of the past few days had made reception impossible.

She’d thought of going to Dawn to talk a couple of times, but she wasn’t sure it would be a good idea. The two of them had certainly learned to work together over the past couple weeks, and they’d even shared a few laughs, but Buffy sincerely doubted that Dawn would support her attempts to start up a relationship with the vampire again. Dawn’s loyalties were clearly with Spike now, and she knew only too well how badly Buffy had hurt him in the past.

In fact, there was only one thing that managed to calm her mind now when everything became overwhelming. It was the reason she strolled the hallways aimlessly whenever she began feeling restless. Her efforts were in vain this afternoon, of course. The piano had been moved from the sitting room to the ballroom for the celebration this evening, and so many people were working on setting up the festivities there that Buffy doubted that even her favorite phantom would be able to sneak in for a quick tune.

Veronica hadn’t been quite correct when she’d said that _nothing_ supernatural had occurred in the past week. Buffy had heard the soft music nearly every night when she returned to her room. She still felt guilty for not divulging this information to the group, but deep in her heart something told her that it was no one else’s business. The music was only for her to hear, and it was an aide, not a danger.

With a wistful sigh at the silent piano, she began to hum the now-memorized tune and headed over to Spike and Dawn’s suite to hear Spike swearing up a storm…

* * *

“Bloody, buggering…”

A loud roar, and a dress shoe flew through the open door to Spike’s room, sailed in a perfect parabolic arc through the common room, and hit the far wall with an ungraceful ‘thunk’. Dawn watched it fall to the floor in a dejected manner.

“You’re gonna need both of these,” she provided, nervously dangling the shoe back into his room.

He snatched it from her with a growl and turned back to his arch-nemesis – a black tie – with a look of pure, unadulterated hatred.

“You want me to get that for you?” Dawn offered, desperately trying to suppress the urge to laugh.

“Don’t need your help,” he insisted stubbornly, forcibly ejecting her from the bedroom and slamming the door shut.

Dawn rolled her eyes as the swearing resumed within with newfound intensity. “Why me?” she sighed.

A knock at the door saved her from having to deal with ultra-pissed-off Spike for the moment.

“Mind if I come in?” Buffy asked after the door had been opened.

Dawn waved her inside in perfect time with a new string of Spike’s invective.

Buffy’s eyes widened when several crashes sounded from the bedroom. “Is he killing something in there?” she inquired curiously.

Dawn giggled. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” she agreed.

Buffy blinked.

“He’s getting dressed,” Dawn explained.

Unbidden, a snicker escaped Buffy’s lips.

“You think that’s bad, you should hear him after I’ve eaten all the chocolate ice-cream,” Dawn provided with a wink.

“Die, you filthy, soddin’ git!” sounded from the bedroom.

“I can imagine,” Buffy agreed with a giggle.

“So, what brings you here?” Dawn inquired, absentmindedly rearranging the research books on the coffee table. “You as bored waiting as I am?” Dawn had managed to slip into her evening dress of lavender satin in all of five seconds.

Buffy nodded, hiking up the skirt of her own emerald green dress as she sat back on the couch. More inventive invective shook the suite. “Men,” she teased. “They always take forever to get dressed.”

Dawn laughed at that. “I offered to help him, but…”

“As stubborn as ever, I see,” Buffy agreed.

Dawn nodded. “I don’t know why I bother to put up with him…” Another crash and the tinkle of broken glass. Dawn sighed. “I’d better go get the broom and dustpan from the front desk again before he cuts himself,” she decided. “Hold the fort for me, will ya?”

Buffy promised and flipped absentmindedly through the spell book that supposedly held the key to their mystery while Spike got progressively more furious in the other room. She started at the knock at the door and went to let Dawn in…only to find that it wasn’t Dawn there.

Rick looked visibly flustered to see her. “I’m looking for your sister,” he provided.

Buffy let him in. “She should be right—”

“Bloody, buggering fuck!”

“—back,” she finished through Spike’s swearing. She cast an annoyed glance in the direction of Spike’s room and stalked over to it. “You need any help in there?” she demanded, rapping on the wood with her knuckles.

“Bugger off!” he shot back.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Well, can you at least try to keep it down? I could hear you from down the hall.”

Mumbled cursewords, but he seemed to be attempting to be quieter for the moment.

“Sorry about that,” Buffy said, turning to face Rick…and finding that he was gone. She frowned for a second. “That’s odd…”

“What’s odd?” Dawn returned to the room at that moment, broom and dustpan in hand. She walked over to Spike’s door and began banging on it. “You’re cleaning up that glass,” she informed him before turning back to Buffy. “What’d he do now?” she asked curiously.

Buffy shook her head. “Not him,” she corrected, “Rick. He was here just a second ago, and—”

“You let him in?” Dawn asked, slightly concerned.

“Just for a second,” Buffy insisted. “I just turned my back, and then he was gone.”

“He was probably just in a hurry,” Dawn assured her, but there was still a frown on her face.

Buffy shrugged and put the matter out of mind. She moved to sit back on the couch.

Dawn continued to wait impatiently outside of Spike’s door. “I need to return this stuff soon,” she provided through the door.

“Well then, bring it in!” he retorted. “’m not goin’ out there starkers with half the world watching on.”

Dawn rolled her eyes. “This’ll probably take all afternoon,” she informed Buffy. “I probably won’t be the best entertainment.”

Buffy nodded. “I can go find Rick and see what he wanted.”

Dawn nodded slowly. “That’s a good idea,” she agreed. “You do that.” With that she disappeared into Spike’s room, cleaning implements in hand.

Buffy shrugged and let herself out. She couldn’t find Rick, though. He seemed to have vanished into thin air…

* * *

“How did you manage to unlive this long?” Dawn demanded when she and Spike finally emerged from his room, tuxedo finally properly arranged.

He grumbled and pulled at the collar like he was choking, even though he didn’t need to breathe. “Didn’t dress up in monkey suits,” he grumbled under his breath, plopping down on the couch that Buffy had vacated over an hour before.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dawn said, “and the punk look never dies.” She checked her watch. “Only forty-five minutes to spare. You know, it’s supposed to be _my_ job to make us late…”

“Whatever you say,” Spike grumbled and picked up the book on the top of the pile. And frowned. He put it back down and began riffling through the pile.

“You know, you’re starting to drive me crazy,” she informed him with a huff.

His search of the table unsuccessful, he got up and walked over to the weapons’ bags and began digging through them. “Well, I told you it was a bad idea for us to be cramped up together in the middle ‘f nowhere all winter.”

“All winter?” Dawn repeated with a roll of her eyes. “And you never said that.”

“Well, I meant to…” he trailed off with a frown, scanning the room.

“Uh-huh,” she teased, “sure. ‘Cause your foresight’s _always_ 20/20.”

He ignored the jibe as the frown on his face grew. “Bit…” he began hesitantly, “where’d you put that book the Collins woman gave us?”

“I left it right on the table,” Dawn insisted and then also noticed that the book that had been on the top of the pile was gone. She frowned and searched through the books there slowly. “You’re sure you didn’t move it?” she asked.

“Left it right there,” Spike insisted.

“Well, so did I,” Dawn countered, “and the only other person who’s been in here is Buffy…” Her eyes widened. “And Rick!” she added, looking around frantically now.

They both scrambled to search the room frantically at that, but the book was gone. There was no question whatsoever that it had been stolen.


	14. Fire and Ice

The soft tinkle of background music from the relocated grand piano greeted Buffy’s ears as she stepped into the freshly decorated ballroom. She bit back a whistle of appreciation at the obvious effort that had gone into transforming the room into the site of such a formal occasion.

Pale rose and blue light sparkled off of the iridescent streamers that circled the walls, making it look as through the entire room were encased in icicles. At the center of the room, a huge glass chandelier cast crystalline shadows down on the crowd below.

The music was slow and elegant, causing the dancers who accompanied it to appear to be gliding on marble. The clink of champagne glasses sounded throughout the room, and Buffy could almost imagine the ice cubes in the glasses tinkling gently against the sides. She couldn’t decide whether the sound made her thirsty or cold, but she headed over to the long table boasting dozens of glasses nonetheless.

She could certainly see why this was the event of the year in the small-town community. Locals and visitors from nearby inns alike had ventured into the otherwise shunned lodge just for this special occasion. It was quite a crowd.

Buffy remained beside the champagne table, sipping her champagne in what she hoped was an elegant manner, and turned her attention back to the job at hand. Everyone seemed lamentably peaceful, however, leaving Buffy with little to do besides envy the dresses of the other women present. She knew her own spaghetti-strapped emerald green dress looked wonderful on her, but the lighting here did particularly unflattering things to the color.

The women who had worn cream-colored dresses, on the other hand, now appeared to be wearing swirling rainbows of pastels. Somewhat self-consciously, Buffy crossed her arms over her chest and took another drink of champagne.

She spotted Xel and Lena – in human guise – off in one corner arguing. It took no stretch of imagination to figure out what had happened. Inevitably, one had been flirting horribly, and World War III had broken out. Or was it World War LXXXV now?

However, they had all long since learned that the D’vorak pair needed no supernatural assistance to argue. Buffy scanned right past them, searching for her fellow demon hunters.

She knew Tucker was stationed outside, not that she had any desire to see him whatsoever. Dawn had quite cleverly shoved him out of the festivities and instructed him to make sure none of the guests wandered off to their deaths. Given that he hadn’t wanted to attend the “damn party” anyway, this worked out admirably for all—

Buffy’s train of thought completely derailed at the sight that had caught her eye. _Gorgeous, delectable, sexy, handsome…_ Her mind leapt from once adjective to the next, stunned completely speechless.

OK, so she’d never seen Spike in a tuxedo before, but it wasn’t like the pleasant thought had never occurred to her before. But not even she could have imagined he would look that… _perfect_ …

“Have you seen Dawn anywhere?”

The soft-spoken tone interrupted her blatant vampire ogling. Buffy shook off her Spike-induced stupor and turned to find Rick standing beside her.

“Haven’t seen her,” she managed to say in a voice almost entirely free of squeaks. “Spike’s here, though.” Her face flamed a bright red just at the mere mention of the object of her desires.

“Yes, they are rather difficult to miss, are they not?” Rick commented, one eyebrow raised above the frame of his blackened sunglasses.

At that point Buffy noticed for the first time that Spike was not alone. In fact, Veronica had managed to wrap her body all around his as they swayed together on the dance floor, looking for all the world like an over-eager octopus. As Buffy watched, Veronica whispered something into Spike’s ear that was evidently quite amusing because he flashed her that kissable dimpled smile of his in response. Buffy began to contemplate the pros and cons of homicide.

“We are supposed to be preventing deaths,” Rick provided, “not causing them.”

Buffy shook off her murderous urges. “I can’t make an exception for Veronica?” she joked lightly.

Rick cracked a small smile. “Only if I can make one for Lena,” he countered.

As if on cue, a trilled “Rrrrricarrdo!” sounded through the crowd.

Rick flinched visibly and instantly looked around furtively for some place to hide. “Help,” he pleaded.

Buffy couldn’t help but laugh behind her hand at his predicament. However, she quickly conceded the gravity of his situation and stepped in to his rescue. “Wanna dance?” she offered.

Rick snatched her hand and fled from the approaching demon. Only when they were safely on the dance floor did he breathe a sigh of relief. “You have saved my life,” he informed her with a small smile.

She managed to flash a quick smile back before she caught sight of Spike and Veronica across the floor, and the glare returned.

A one-sided awkward silence followed until Rick finally dared to ask, “You are fond of Spike, perhaps?”

Buffy’s attention turned abruptly to her dancing partner at that. He was generally too polite to ask, but she knew he had to have caught her longing looks in the vampire’s direction. “W-We have a bit of a history,” she finally admitted, her cheeks reddening, “and, yes, I am still fond of him.”

“But he does not feel for you?” Rick guessed.

She let out a weary sigh. “Your guess is as good as mine,” she admitted. “I mean, back then he loved me, but now…” She shrugged. “He’s a complete mystery to me now.”

“I can sympathize,” Rick nodded.

Buffy gave him a quizzical look.

“Your sister is just as much a mystery to me,” he provided somewhat nervously.

A sly smile crept across Buffy’s features. “I knew it!” she proclaimed triumphantly. “’Cause, y’know, it was _sooo_ obvious you have a thing for her.”

Rick seemed thoroughly baffled as to how to deal with a Summers in gossip mode, but fortunately Buffy was now able to maintain enough conversation for the two of them. If nothing else, Rick had at least distracted her from moping about Spike for the time being.

Buffy frowned. “Is it just me or has Dawn been acting a bit stand-offish around you lately?”

“It isn’t just you,” Rick breathed a sigh of relief. “For a while, I thought that I was imagining it.”

“What did you do to piss her off, then?” Buffy demanded.

“Nothing!” Rick insisted defensively.

Buffy rolled her eyes at him in a gesture that clearly said, _Men!_ “You did something,” she informed him matter-of-factly. “Now, think. What was it?”

“I have no clue,” he shook his head.

Buffy sighed. “You’ll just have to go for the general, all-encompassing apology then and hope that she drops a hint before you have to clarify what you’re apologizing for,” she decided.

“But I did not do anything,” Rick repeated, somewhat puzzled now.

She gave him a quizzical look. “You haven’t dated a lot of women, have you?” she countered.

“Well, not as such—” he began.

“It shows,” she informed him. “Just trust me about this one.”

He gave her a skeptical look. “And you are helping me to court your sister because…?” he demanded.

“Because you use quaint words like ‘court’,” she informed him. “Plus, you so desperately need the help that—” She stopped abruptly and turned in surprise at the tap on her shoulder…

* * *

Dawn had retired to the far back corner of the room to study the festivities in peace. She frowned as she caught sight of her allies. Most were too caught up in the celebration to really be paying attention to much else. The sole exception was Spike, who at least seemed wary of where Buffy was dancing with Rick.

Dawn’s frown deepened at the thought of the young man.

She had seen all the evidence against him, of course. The suspicious secrecy, Spike’s spidey-sense going haywire, not to mention his increasingly suspicious interest in her. Most damning of all was the disappearance of the book from her room. She was confident that only Rick and Buffy had been in the room since the last time she’d seen the tome, and she was confident that her sister was innocent of the theft.

However, somewhere deep inside, she fervently wanted to believe that Rick was innocent. It was a selfish motive, and she knew it, but she had been growing quite fond of the soft-spoken man and his quirky sense of humor. In fact, he was the first man that had seriously caught her eye in a very long time.

Buffy and Rick’s conversation seemed to have turned serious now. Dawn would’ve given just about anything at that moment to be a fly on the wall. Spike also seemed to have caught the change in the pair’s mood and was angling the overly-amorous Veronica over in their direction.

Dawn couldn’t help but giggle at the other woman’s antics. She certainly had unsubtlety down to an art. Dawn was actually sort of proud of Spike for not caving in. She’d certainly seen him have flings with equally irritating women over the years. A brief shudder passed through her at the memory of Buni, and she decided that maybe Veronica wasn’t so flaky after all.

Her eyes inevitably turned back to Rick, and she sighed wearily. _Why are the cute ones always evil?_ She suddenly felt great sympathy for all the difficulties Buffy had had in her own romantic life. She felt bad about keeping the distance between her and Rick, especially since she could see how it hurt him, but it was a risk she just couldn’t take.

“Now, what is a beautiful woman such as yourself doing all alone?”

Dawn cast unimpressed eyes in Xel’s direction. Somehow, he’d managed to escape Lena and now appeared to be playing up the women along the back wall in sequence.

“My job,” she reminded him. “Which is what you should be doing.”

“Exactly,” he agreed with a smile and an arm around her shoulder, “and here I am, mingling with the guests and making sure no disruptions break out.”

She looked at the hand on her shoulder pointedly until he finally removed it with a sigh.

“Nothing’s happening,” he finally pointed out.

“Yet,” she agreed.

Even as she said it, an apparent scuffle broke out on the dance floor. The two of them both took a step forward…and then back again when they saw that it was just Spike and Veronica cutting into Buffy and Rick.

“Sometimes I think we create more problems than we help solve,” Xel commented with an astuteness Dawn found surprising.

“Yeah, well, all we can do for now is try to keep the peace,” Dawn agreed, leaning back against the wall once more.

“Whatever you say…boss,” he added with a grin before running off to rescue Lena’s latest hapless victim.

* * *

“’m cuttin’ in,” Spike informed Rick with a slight curl to his lips. He practically dropped Veronica into the other man’s lap and whisked Buffy away before she even had a chance to register what had happened.

Buffy’s normally lightning-quick Slayer reflexes were momentarily dulled by the drool-worthy sight of Spike in a tux, and she half-danced, half-staggered along with him, colliding with his body and causing both of them to hold on tight to keep from toppling over.

“Klutzy much?” he inquired, unknowingly emulating her own bizarre speech patterns.

“W-Well, what do you expect?” she countered, forcibly ignoring the wonderful feel of his hardened chest beneath her cheek and his silken hair at her fingertips. “I mean, you practically abducted me…” _Jealous?_ A hopeful voice in the back of her mind inquired.

“What did the wanker want?” he demanded instead of responding to her. Almost unconsciously, the hand at the back of her waist gave her a little squeeze.

 _Sounds jealous to me_ , the eternal optimist in her insisted. “We were just chatting,” she stated, “mostly about Dawn.”

Spike’s wandering eyes instantly met hers in a mixture of concern and suspicion. “What about?”

Buffy frowned, put off by his odd manner. “What _is_ it with you and her, anyway?” she finally blurted out in frustration.

A quirked eyebrow was her only response. At least she knew she had his attention now, though.

With nowhere else to go, she plunged onward. “I mean, half the time I can’t tell whether you’re just being protective or whether the two of you are together and you’re just leading everyone else on, which, I’ve got to say, is—”

“Buffy,” he cut her off with a chuckle.

She frowned at his amusement, and then smiled inwardly at the unusual use of her name. “What?” she demanded, determined to play the angry part. It was rather difficult when she, to all intents and purposes, was wrapped in an intimate embrace with him.

“The Bit’s like my own li’l sis, maybe even a daughter at times,” he informed her matter-of-factly, “so, yeah, ‘m concerned when our primary suspect in this hauntin’s got his eyes on her.”

“Really?” Buffy breathed out in relief before the entire meaning of his sentence dawned on her. “Wait, whatta you mean ‘primary suspect’? Rick?” she asked in disbelief.

“Kid hasn’t been straight with us from the beginning,” Spike provided. “Been tryin’ to get in close, insinuate himself among us… Sets off the tinglies at the back of m’neck, he does. That, and the soddin’ shades he wears _everywhere_.”

“Oh yeah, the persistent clothing oddity’s a definite clue,” she managed to get out with a straight face. “By the way, where’s your duster?”

“I left it with Dawn when—” He caught her meaning and scowled at her. “Ha bloody ha, Slayer,” he retorted humorlessly.

“Oh, lighten up,” she shot back before frowning. “Rick? Really? He seems so…shy and inoffensive.”

Spike snorted. “Women!” he rolled his eyes heavenward.

She gave him an annoyed scowl, while secretly delighting in the exchange. This was the Spike she remembered – stubborn, argumentative, obnoxious…her perfect match. “If you think he’s so dangerous, then why did you offer Veronica up like a sacrificial lamb?” she countered.

“Yeah well, better her ‘n you,” he shrugged.

She smiled at that. “You didn’t seem to mind when she was all over you,” she shot back nonetheless.

An evil smirk lit up his face. “Someone’s jealous,” he sing-songed.

“ _I’m_ jealous?” she demanded incredulously. “ _I’m_ not the one who went all Neanderthal to get a new dance partner. If anything, _you’re_ jealous.” She prodded his chest with her index finger in accusation.

For an instant they froze on the dance floor, eyes narrowed and glaring, breathing quickened, passions burning. In that moment, all the past seemed to be erased, and they were just the Slayer and her Vampire once more – adversaries and destined lovers.

Then, unfortunately, the world zoomed back into focus, the soft music and conversation around them sounding cacophonous compared to the peace that had just encased them. It was an awkward moment to top all other awkward moments, and they did the only thing they could to alleviate it and began dancing once more.

“He wanted to know why Dawn has been acting so distant lately,” Buffy provided, hoping to break the uncomfortable silence between them.

“Mmm,” Spike nodded, staring off into the distance. “Not a good sign. He knows we’re suspicious. ‘Course, he’d hafta after the incident with the book…”

“Book?” she asked confusedly.

Spike groaned. “Wasn’t s’posed to tell you ‘bout that,” he provided at her look.

“Well, you’re so spilling now,” she informed him, looking right up into his eyes and tightening her grip on the back of his neck so that he couldn’t escape.

He let out a resigned sigh. “Someone nabbed our spell book,” he informed her, “and unless it was you, your dear Rrrricardo’s the only one that could’ve taken it.”

Buffy frowned. “But we need that book to—”

“Yeah,” he agreed, cutting her off.

She let out a little groan and buried her face in his chest once more. “This thing is _evil_ ,” she declared. “Why won’t it just die, dammit?”

He chuckled at that. “There’s the Slayer I remember.”

A flush lit up her cheeks at that and his as well. The comment had obviously slipped out unintentionally.

“I-I’m a big fan of the tux,” she decided to take advantage of the fact that her face was already red to complement him. _And the award for Understatement of the Year goes to…_

He smiled at her at that. “’ll pass the complement along to the Platelet. She deserves it after all the effort of tryin’ to force me into this thing.”

“It’s not just that,” she insisted with a laugh. “It’s you. You’re…” The heat rose in her cheeks once more.

Spike wasn’t any better off and ducked his head bashfully before finally meeting her eyes.

“…very handsome,” she finally finished breathlessly.

“You’re lookin’ quite lovely yourself,” he countered with a nervous smile.

“Yeah, what with my dress the color of fertilizer in this light,” she joked lightly.

He grinned. “You’ll note that the comment was cleverly directed at you and not the dress,” he agreed.

She smiled and let her eyes fall to his lips, allowing herself to ponder their fullness. Her mouth practically watered at the memory of the taste of him, and unconsciously she began to gauge the distance between them. It suddenly felt as though the lights above were burning into her, not the pale rose of before but a brilliant red now.

Too mesmerized by the man before her to let the phenomenon register, she allowed her eyelashes to flutter closed, standing up on her tiptoes to close the gap in between them…

And, naturally, someone chose that moment to let out an ear-piercing scream that shook the entire ballroom.


	15. Shattered Crystal

Spike turned away abruptly at the sound of the scream to see a panicked rush over at the far side of the dance floor. People were knocking each other over, shoving their way through other terrified dancers, all attempting to flee the imminent danger from above.

“What the…?” Buffy began.

“Bloody hell!” Spike exclaimed as a second crack split through the ceiling, and the chandelier plummeted downwards, crushing the good dozen people that still hadn’t escaped its path.

“Oh god.” Buffy had just noticed the chandelier’s precarious position as it fell. Instinctively, she pushed her way back through the horrified spectators, Spike at her side, forcing her way to the site of the destruction.

Just as they broke through the inner circle of the gawking crowd, Spike froze in his tracks. Blindly, his hand reached out to capture Buffy’s wrist in a viselike grip.

She turned back to look at him and found his face the most ghastly pale thing she’d ever seen. Her gaze shot to where he stared speechless, and her own heart caught in her throat. At the far side of the wreckage, just barely visible was a head of long brunette hair that was unquestionably Dawn’s.

“No,” Spike gasped in a weak voice.

Buffy’s attention snapped to at that, and she yanked back on his arm. “We’ve got to help her!” she exclaimed, half dragging him with her as she circled the wreckage of shattered crystals.

It took Spike a moment to even realize that Buffy had said something and they were moving once more, but then the desperate urge to save his little sister took over and he dashed off towards the fallen form, leaving Buffy to chase after.

She rounded a pile of broken glass and circuits to see Spike kneeling before Dawn’s fallen form, pulling the twisted wires off of her body. Buffy saw the blood and leapt to worse conclusion, not even noticing that her sister had been technically clear of the crash site.

“Dawnie…” she whimpered in horror, her eyes tearing…

And Dawn groaned and pushed herself up. “Remind me not to go all heroic again,” she instructed Spike, helping to pull the young woman she’d pushed free of the danger zone to her feet.

Spike’s face remained grim as he continued to clear the broken glass out of the pair’s way.

Buffy was too overjoyed at her sister’s survival to even notice. “Oh god, Dawnie.” She caught her startled sister up in a tearful hug before inspecting the cut on her forehead. “W-We’re going to need to get that stitched up, and we should check for—”

“Buffy,” Dawn cut her off with a little laugh, “it’s all right. I’ve had much worse.”

Buffy took a deep breath and tried desperately to remember that her sister was an adult and a demon hunter, and she really didn’t need Buffy to fuss after her well being anymore. It seemed to be a nearly impossible habit to break, though.

“Sorry,” Buffy said with a deep sigh. “Just very relieved.”

Dawn gave her an affectionate smile and a quick hug, anyway.

Spike rolled his eyes. “Hate to break up the sisterly bonding,” he said, handing the woman Dawn had saved over to a concerned Lena, “but that was the stupidest thing ‘ve _ever_ seen you do, Bit.” He scowled over at her. “Next time you maybe wanna run _away_ from the fallin’ missiles?”

Dawn gave him an irritated look that said all too clearly to put this off until later. “Why did it fall?” she asked, turning to more pertinent matters and she and Buffy carefully tiptoed out of the shattered remains.

“Not a bleedin’ clue,” Spike shook his head, staring up at the fractured ceiling.

By now, the ballroom crowd had completely surrounded the wreckage. Xel had located another survivor and was helping him free of the disaster site. Following Spike’s lead, many of the onlookers had turned their heads upwards as well, marveling at the deep rips in the plaster and wondering what could have caused them.

The Haunting, master of timing as it was, took that moment when all eyes were upon it to act.

Slowly, the crack in the ceiling began to ooze a deep blackened red. At one second the substance appeared to be viscous blood and the next a swarm of moving creatures, insect legs vibrating so rapidly that they appeared as thick as liquid. The red ooze spread outward from the cracks, covering the ceiling and dripping down the walls, reaching ever closer to the helpless humans below…

Fresh screams echoed through the audience, and the stampede began anew. Dawn found herself jostled through the crowd, shouting out in vain that if they all just calmed down they’d be fine. She turned back to try to find Spike and Buffy, but the inexorable flow towards the door was unstoppable, and she quickly fell beneath it, locking her arms over her head for protection as she tried to make it back up to her feet…  
   
 

“Slayer!” Spike called out in alarm, catching her as the two of them were shoved together and trying to force his way over to the clearing left by the fallen chandelier.

Buffy quickly released his aim and pushed her way through the crowd as well. Only their combined slayer and vampire strength allowed them to make it to the relative safety of the broken glass, despite the frenzied humans.

Spike gulped in a deep breath of unnecessary air and looked upward once more, frowning. “’s not comin’ any closer,” he said right into Buffy’s ear so that he could be heard over the chaos of the crowd.

Buffy glanced up as well. The creepy red-black mass was still moving across the ceiling, true, but all its lunges at the crowd were feints, and in itself it hadn’t harmed anyone. “It’s driving them to try to kill each other…” she realized.

“For non-corporeal, it’s a right smart bugger,” Spike agreed, his face still inches from hers so that they could hear each other.

“What happened to Dawn and the others?” Buffy asked, concerned.

Spike shook his head. “And in this crowd, we’ll never find ‘em…”  
   
 

Dawn screeched as a foot crashed painfully into her side, and the breath was knocked out of her. She gasped desperately, trying to force the air back into her unwilling lungs while shielding herself from further human attacks.

A second kick caught her arm right where it was protecting her head. A stinging pain when all up and down her forearm at the blow, but it was far better than the alternative.

Then, much to her surprise, she felt a hand clasp onto to her uninjured arm and try to pull her upward. She went with the helping hand and soon found herself safely on her feet and gasping against the relative safety of the wall.

She watched, completely unamused, as the harmless effect of the red-black ooze ran up and down the wall beside her, trying to frighten her back into the danger of the crowd.

The room had nearly cleared now, although the bottleneck by the door was still jammed packed. Several fistfights seemed to have broken out among the guests as to who got to escape first. The Haunting proceeded to slide over the floor in the direction of the door, keeping the panicked frenzy to a maximum.

However, as the bulk of the throng had now passed Dawn by, she was able to turn her attentions to her savior for the first time. “Thanks,” she breathed out with lungs that still ached.

“It was nothing,” Rick insisted with his usual soft-spoken voice.

Dawn turned back to the room at large. She saw Veronica cowering under the piano, while Xel and Lena were behind the overturned champagne table. Buffy and Spike had sought shelter in the shattered chandelier, but now all the assembled demon hunters were free of the human stampede and were heading over to the war that had broken out by the door, trying to calm things down.

“Let’s go,” Dawn instructed, limping over to the doorway and still wheezing slightly from the blow to her ribs.

“Are you sure you are all right?” Rick asked somewhat skeptically, but he followed after her anyway.

“Fine,” she insisted in a tight voice before catching the arm of a woman at the back of the crowd, pulling her free of the pile up, and giving her a good shake to stop the ridiculous panicking shrieks she was making.

Rick caught her husband by trapping the larger man in a bear hug and pulling him back away from the crowd.

Spike, Buffy, and Xel were now helping to pull off members of the struggling heap as well, while Veronica and Lena had stayed behind to check on those who had been trampled under the stampede.

“Look!” Dawn demanded, getting right in the woman’s face and pointing her in the direction of the red blood/insect-like substance. “It’s just going ‘boo’. Calm down.”

The hysterical woman paid her words no heed and shrieked again.

With a roll of her eyes, Dawn released her hostage through the now-clear doorway, guiding her in the right direction to get to the parking lot.

She found an exhausted-looking Tucker standing in the hallway and panting heavily.

“Tried to guide ‘em out,” he provided between gasps, “but some of ‘em pushed right by me. Must still be runnin’ around in this place.”

Dawn let out a weary sigh. “Stay here and make sure the last few don’t get lost,” she instructed before returning to the now-destroyed ballroom.

Lena shook her head at the fallen form of the man she had been checking for life-signs, and Dawn called her over.

“There’re still people running scared and lost through the hallways,” Dawn provided. “Track them down and make sure they all make it to their cars all right.”

Lena nodded without any of her usual complaints and ran out of the ballroom to attend to the matter.

Dawn then turned her attention to where the few remaining guests were still struggling with their captors. Spike and Buffy released their hostages upon her all-clear signal, and the offended pair of guests stalked out with a huff. The man Rick was holding decided to be far less cooperative. The instant he was free, he turned on Rick and brought his fist right into the other man’s nose before running for the exit.

Rick fell backwards at the force of the blow, crashing into the far wall and slumping against it. The impact jarred his ever-present sunglasses loose, and they skittered across the floor, landing a few feet away.

Dawn instinctively ran over to him to check that he was all right. Unknowingly, she stepped between his searching hand and the glasses he was seeking. “Are you all right?” she asked, concerned, crouching down before him. “That guy must’ve hit you pretty hard to—”

And, at that moment, Rick opened his eyes for the first time.

And Dawn screamed…

* * *

Lena wound through the seemingly endless corridors of the Cascade Mountain Lodge, following the fleeting sounds of human footsteps. Despite the fact that she’d grown well-accustomed to this place during the two weeks she’d been here, the hallways seemed alien to her tonight, winding with a labyrinthine complexity that she couldn’t even begin to decipher.

She turned another bend and would have sworn that she was back in the same hallway she’d just left behind. She shook off the eerie feeling and ran the length of this hallway as well, demonic ears honed in on the sound of elusive footsteps.

At the next bend she practically collided with the lost pair of humans, and only her quick reflexes kept them from falling over.

“Help us!” the woman screamed, clutching at her husband’s arm.

“Follow me,” Lena instructed. “I know the way out.”

As if mocking her earlier perceptions, the inn corridors were in perfect order now, and Lena had no difficulty guiding the frightened pair of humans back through the lobby and out into the parking lot. The traffic was jammed, of course, but the insane panic of earlier seemed to have faded now that the humans had returned to the illusionary safety of their oversized pick-up trucks and SUVs. Annoyance was the prevailing motion now, and many horns were honked as impatient drivers tried to get through the bottleneck of the lodge’s parking lot.

“Do you know where your car is?” Lena asked the pair she’d found, wiping away the snowflakes that fluttered into her eyes. Apparently, Mother Nature had decided to add a touch of flurries just to make visibility an issue in an already chaotic situation.

“There!” the woman cried out in delight, pointing to a Ford Escort.

Without so much as a thanks, the couple ran off towards their car, leaving Lena to shake her head in distaste. She turned back to the inn, avoiding the path that still held clusters of chilly humans and trudging through the ankle-deep snow instead. She was grateful as ever that this pair of her slaying boots was also fashionable enough to have been worn to the ball. Otherwise, her feet would be wet and freezing.

She still felt a bit of a chill since she hadn’t bothered to retrieve her jacket and hurried back toward the building, arms wrapped tight around her body as she moved through the increasingly thick snow.

Thus it was that she didn’t see the small depression in the white cover until she’d already stepped on it and fallen through. She let out a little shriek as she fell, but the soft white flakes muffled the sound as well as any possible onlooker’s view.

With thud, Lena crashed to the hard earthen floor ten feet below, knocked completely unconscious by the fall.

And, in the blackness of the underground room surrounding her, slowly dozens of pairs of eyes began to glow a demonic red…

* * *

A pair of cold, lifeless eyes stared back at Dawn, blood red through and through with not even a division between iris and pupil.

Dawn leapt back in sudden surprise at the secret Rick had been keeping from her for so long, and his eyes, like red marbles, turned in their sockets, catching all the other stunned faces in the room before finally landing on Spike.

“ _Kayeri_!” the vampire hissed in outrage, his eyes yellowing and facial bones grinding as he slipped into demonic form.

Rick’s eyes flashed with an eerie red light before he leapt up and quickly caught Dawn by the waist just as Spike lunged for him. He threw her into the approaching vampire, causing them to collide in a tangle of limbs, before he dashed for the door.

Spike screeched out in pain and clutched at his head as painful electric arcs shot through his brain, somehow managing to catch Dawn anyway and keep her from falling.

Buffy rushed to his side in an instant, supporting him even as she watched Rick reach the door.

There, he unexpectedly found Tucker and flung the other man aside before vanishing off down the corridor.

“What in god’s blazes was _that_?” Tucker exclaimed in confusion, pushing himself up off of the floor.

Veronica and Xel seemed to come to at this and helped him up.

“A Kayeri,” Veronica answered before turning a quizzical look Spike’s way. “ _That_ was a Kayeri?” she repeated, still surprised.

He nodded as the headache receded and brushed off Buffy’s attentions.

“Uh…” Dawn began confusedly, “what’s a Kayeri?”

“Nasty li’l demons,” Spike provided, turning his concern in her direction. “Pick off human women an’—”

“I don’t care _what_ it is!” Tucker cut in, annoyed. “It’s gettin’ away! Ain’t we going after it?”

Dawn nodded. “Go,” she instructed Tucker and Xel who both had jackets. “We’ll catch up to you.”

The two men ran off in pursuit of their former ally.

“And try not to kill him before we can talk to him!” Dawn shouted down the hallway after him, trying to bite down the conflicting emotions that were swirling around in her belly and making her feel slightly nauseous. “Veronica, grab your coat and go after them as soon as you’re ready,” Dawn instructed, already following Spike and Buffy in the direction of their rooms. “We’ll all meet up eventually.”

Veronica nodded and dashed off down the hallway to her room.

“Spike,” Dawn demanded as Buffy vanished into her room and Dawn opened the door to her own, “did you bring those tranquilizers with us?”

“They’re in my room somewhere,” he agreed.

“Good. Get them ready. I don’t want to do anything hasty until I know what’s going on,” Dawn agreed, grabbing her jacket and kicking off her dress shoes to grab her sneakers.

“He’ll go into the woods,” Spike informed her. “It’ll be the closest thing to home turf he can get.”

She tossed aside the shoes and grabbed her boots instead. “All right, meet me out there,” she agreed before taking off again. She crashed into Buffy in the hallway and instructed her to help Spike with the tranquilizers.

Buffy found Spike back in his room, riffling through a black duffel bag. “I’m supposed to help,” she provided breathlessly, still buttoning up her pink parka.

“Found ‘em!” Spike declared in triumph, holding up a box of darts. “Can you load the guns?”

Buffy sat down on the edge of the bed to do just that, fighting back a yawn. “Are you all right?” she asked, fitting the first rifle with two darts.

“Fine,” he shrugged her concern off, looking for the other rifle.

“I mean, with the chip headache and all…” she went on.

He froze for a second at that. “Yeah…” he began a bit hesitantly, “the chip…”

Buffy let out a wide yawn and set the fully loaded tranquilizer gun down on the floor. “You find the other one yet?” she inquired.

He let out a frustrated snort and searched through another bag. “This is what I get for bringing so many weapons,” he complained.

“Mmm,” was Buffy’s lazy response. She was suddenly very aware of the soft mattress beneath her and the wonderful smell of Spike that permeated the sheets. It was all so…relaxing, and this was the first moment of peace she’d had since the disaster began. _I’ll just lay back for a second_ , her mind insisted. _Just to rest up before the fight…_

“Got it!” Spike announced in triumph from where he’d been rooting through another bag. “OK, now we need to—” He cut himself off when he noticed that she’d fallen asleep. With a patented roll of his eyes heavenward, he approached the bed. “C’mon, Slayer,” he nudged her foot, “we’ve got nasties to kill.”

She didn’t budge.

He frowned. “Slayer? Buffy?” He gave her a rough shake.

Still nothing.

He crawled up on the bed beside her and caught her shoulder, forcing her to face him. “Luv?” he demanded, concerned…and then a huge yawn overtook him.

He tried to blink back the sudden, inexplicable sleepiness but found himself unable to do so. An incurable weariness took over his limbs, and his vision swam as his eyelids drooped.

“What the bloody…?” he yawned…

And then collapsed into a deep sleep right beside the Slayer.

A swirl of red light escaped both their bodies at that, and the fiery glow hovered about the ceiling for an instant, contemplating the situation. The glow descended upon their bodies for a second, and the next there was a bright flash and their clothes had both vanished, scattering themselves about the room.

At the sudden chill, Buffy curled her nude body into Spike’s, sighing contentedly as his arm slipped around her waist.

Satisfied at mischief well accomplished, the red glow vanished into the cracks of the lodge. _Three down. Three to go…_

* * *

“There you are!” Veronica exclaimed in relief went Dawn burst out of the inn doors. “We have to follow these footprints fast, or the snow will cover them up.”

Dawn nodded. “Buffy and Spike will catch up. Spike should be able to follow our scents.”

“Let’s go then,” Veronica said a bit less than eagerly, and the two women vanished into what was fast becoming a full-blown blizzard…


	16. Silent Snow

Swirls and eddies of white spun through the ancient forest, creating ghostly shades amidst the trees and obliterating all but the snow itself from the eyes of those trapped within it.

“Shit!” Tucker swore elegantly, wiping the wet crystals from his eyes as he scanned the wilds around him.

Behind him, Xel shivered. “Can you see any tracks?” he demanded.

“Irritating sonuvabitch’s taken to the trees,” Tucked countered. His attention focused on a spot which seemed to Xel just like any other, and he stalked through the rising ankle-deep snow toward it. “This way,” he instructed.

Xel shrugged and followed, human guise long since abandoned and antennae quivering slightly at the cold. He clutched the light jacket he’d brought to the ball tightly against him. He found it somewhat irritating that Tucker’s jacket appeared to be no thicker, but the hunter was exhibiting no signs of discomfort.

“What are we looking for?” Xel inquired when Tucker came to a halt again.

The other man scanned in both directions before veering off from their original path at a sharp right angle. “He’s knockin’ the snow from the branches as he goes,” he provided for Xel, indicating a recently fallen snow heap to the D’vorak Demon.

Xel shook his head. He never would’ve spotted the pattern in the near blinding conditions around them. “I don’t think we’re ever going to catch him this way,” Xel commented.

Tucker just shot him an annoyed look and trudged ahead. The snow was getting deeper now, and both men’s pants were getting drenched. Fighting their way through the snow was also slowing them down, allowing their quarry’s lead to increase.

“He won’t get away that easily,” Tucker insisted before freezing in his tracks.

Xel skidded to a sudden stop behind him, barely managing to keep himself from falling right over into a nearby snow pile. “What now?” he demanded with a bit of a whine in his voice.

“Shh!” Tucker hissed vehemently, cocking the rifle he’d had outside his room in preparation for any foul play that evening.

Xel shifted uncomfortably on wet feet and watched Tucker scan the forest around them with his rifle sight. He scuttled out of the way nervously when Tucker’s sweep turned in his direction, but the rifle froze in place only a foot or so to the left of where he’d been standing.

Tucker’s eyes narrowed for a second as he zeroed in on his target, and then he let out an annoyed sigh and dropped it. “Just what we need,” he grumbled under his breath, “uppity women to slow us down…”

Xel saw Dawn and Veronica materialize out of the falling snow around them and run over to their position.

“Have you seem him yet?” Dawn demanded instantly, handing Xel the extra crossbow she’d nabbed from her room. Veronica had her own long knife, while Dawn herself had always preferred a sword.

“He’s pulling further ahead,” Tucker informed her tersely. “Now, come on.”

No one protested the hunter’s instructions in this circumstance, and they all scrambled to keep up with his rigorous pace.

“Kayeri are to trees like mountain goats are to cliffs,” Veronica provided during a brief respite while Tucker picked up the trail once more. “If we’re ever going to catch him, we’re going to have to force him to the ground.”

“Or we could just shoot him outta the trees,” Tucker pointed out snidely.

“No shooting,” Dawn quickly reprimanded him. “We need him alive.”

She got several skeptical looks at that.

“Missing book? Creepy non-corporeal thing?” she provided. “I don’t know about you all, but I’d like to get some answers.”

Tucker snorted, but no one argued.

“I still don’t see how we’re _ever_ going to catch him at this rate,” Xel complained, his feet squishing in his wet shoes uncomfortably. The snow was fast approaching knee-deep, and he was soggy and freezing. “He’s going much faster than us, and—”

“Kayeri are subtropical,” Veronica provided, squinting out into the swirling flakes. “He’ll be even worse off in this weather than we are. It shouldn’t take too long for him to slow down.”

“Good to know,” Tucker admitted grudgingly.

“All right,” Dawn said with a weary sigh, turning to Veronica, “it’s official. Until Spike shows up, you’re our expert on these Kayeri. Now, I want to know everything you do. It might help us understand what’s going on.”

Veronica, a bit stunned at being asked to keep talking for once, blinked a few times before she began. “W-Well, I’m not an expert…” she began somewhat hesitantly.

“More so than anyone else here,” Dawn countered, “so tell us all you know.”

Veronica bit her lip. “It’s not much,” she admitted. “I mean, I’ve only heard the rumors. They’re rather infamous down in South America.”

“Then why couldn’t he _stay_ in South America?” Xel grumbled.

Veronica’s brow furrowed at that. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I’ve never heard of a Kayeri leaving its home territory before. They generally stick to the forests of the Amazon Basin and the foothills of the Andes. It’s rare for them even to venture into the cities of Brazil.”

“Fascinating,” Tucker said in a voice that indicated that he thought it was anything but. “This isn’t the Amazon, though, honey,” he gestured to the falling snow around them with a sarcastic sweep of his arms, “in case you haven’t noticed…”

Veronica scowled at him. “I’m just telling you all I know,” she snapped.

“And you’re doing a good job,” Dawn assured her, shooting a warning look in Tucker’s direction. “Go on,” she addressed Veronica. “What powers do these things have?”

“Well, they’re incredibly fast,” Veronica began, still scanning the tree trunks, “especially when they take to the trees. Can jump exceptionally far. There are rumors that they might have some sort of hypnotic powers.”

Dawn sighed. “Great. Rumors?”

“Well, it’s the standard Kayeri attack,” Veronica provided. “They live out in the forests and move around until they select a small village. They then pick off the local farmers – slice open the men for food and kidnap the women. The Kayeri females are incapable of carrying their young to term, see, so they use human females as hosts after the breeding season.”

Dawn’s face scrunched up in distaste, and a slight shiver ran through her. She could suddenly understand all too well why Spike had been furious to discover that a Kayeri had been sniffing around her. “Nice,” she said sarcastically.

Veronica curled her lip in agreement. “Then, after the children are born, they have a nice, handy food source in the human host and—”

Tucker’s hand cut her off mid-speech. “It’s watching,” he hissed in a low voice.

Nervously, the other three formed a defensive circle, looking nervously to the treetops.

“Oh yeah,” Tucker muttered low under his breath, “this is what was stalkin’ us through the forest before, all right…”

“Does anyone see it?” Xel whispered back nervously.

“Maybe he’s run—” Veronica began hopefully…

…and then shrieked.

Everyone spun to face her, only to find her lying in the snow and sputtering in distaste. “He jumped me!” she squealed in alarm. “Came out of nowhere! And he stole my knife!” She held up her now-empty hands.

The alarm of the other three increased at this unfortunate turn of events. Their enemy was now not only blindingly fast but armed as well.

“Did you see where he went?” Dawn demanded, searching the whiteout for their foe in vain.

“I was a bit busy freezing to death,” Veronica retorted icily, brushing the snow off of herself as she stood up.

“This is not good…” Xel murmured under his breath.

Tucker nodded with a grimace and then cocked his ear to one side. “He’s run off again,” he announced with a bit of relief.

“Guess he just wanted to even up the odds a bit,” Dawn agreed.

“Well, he didn’t entirely succeed,” Veronica revealed, pulling a back-up knife from the sheath at her hip.

“So, we’re going back now, right?” Xel demanded nervously. “I mean, it’s obvious we can’t fight—”

“We’re keeping after him,” Dawn insisted with grim determination. “Tucker?”

“On it.” The hunter took off into the woods once more. He came to a halt after only a few dozen yards, however. “Dammit!” he swore.

“What is it?” Dawn pushed forward until she was at his side.

“He’s circling around,” Tucker informed her. “We’ve been on this path before. He’s tryin’ to lose us.”

“He either doubled back to the inn, or he’s circled back into the woods,” Veronica agreed. “All the trails leading from this position are old.”

Dawn blinked at her in surprise. “You can follow these tracks?” she asked.

Veronica looked equally surprised. “You can’t?” she said, disbelieving.

Dawn shook her head. “All right, we’ll have to split up,” she determined. “Veronica, you follow the trail back to the inn. Take Xel with you, and remember that we’re trying to capture Rick alive.”

Veronica nodded.

Dawn turned to Tucker. “You’re with me,” she instructed. “We go back out into the woods.”

Tucker shrugged it off like it was no difficulty.

“Right, let’s go,” Dawn instructed, heading off after Tucker. “Oh,” she turned back to Xel and Veronica for one last order, “and if you see Buffy and Spike, will you tell them to hurry their asses up?”

Veronica shivered slightly. “It is _so_ unfair that we’re all freezing out here by ourselves,” she agreed.

Dawn frowned slightly. “Can’t imagine where they’ve gotten off to,” she began before following Tucker through the snow…

* * *

The wind whipped waves of snow against the windowpane, creating a chilled rattling vibration.

Buffy murmured slightly in response and buried her head deeper into the chest of the man beside her, a soft smile on her face as his body continued to reflect her own body heat back at her. Unconsciously, one leg slipped over his waist, pulling him more tightly into her.

A brief trill escaped Spike’s throat when her fingers moved slightly to find one of his flat male nipples. In his sleep, he breathed deep of the soft perfume of her hair and continued to dream.

Buffy’s own dreams were the most contented in years, almost as if she knew whose arms she was in even in unconsciousness. Her sleeping thoughts not drifting any further than the man beside her, she remained safe, warm, and comfortable in bed, oblivious to all that was happening outside…

* * *

Xel and Veronica both let out audible sighs of relief when the dark outline of the lodge finally emerged from the snow-white night.

“Looks like Dawn and Tucker are stuck with our little Kayeri,” Veronica commented wryly, opening the patio doors and savoring the warmth of centralized heating as they entered the recreation room.

Xel shook the snow out of his antennae and agreed. “Hopefully, they’ll catch a bit of common sense and come back soon.”

Veronica shivered slightly, clothes still damp from when Rick had shoved her into that snow bank. “I’m hot shower bound,” she informed him. “Be a dear, and go make sure Dawn’s back-up is on the way, won’t you?”

Xel grumbled but let her proceed him down the hallways, stopping only briefing to knock on the doors of Buffy’s and then Dawn and Spike’s room. Neither yielded an answer.

With a resigned sigh and a last longing look at where Veronica’s dress clung to her lean thighs, he returned to his own room and collapsed on the bed. So tired was he that it didn’t even cross his mind as odd that Lena hadn’t come back yet…

* * *

“I don’t like bein’ toyed with,” Tucker grumbled as another of the false trails that led off into the woods came to a dead end. He quickly stalked back past Dawn, returning to the previous trail.

“He’s going to a lot of effort to lead us astray,” Dawn pointed out, biting her lip thoughtfully. “That’s got to mean that he’s headed somewhere – somewhere that he doesn’t want us to find.”

“Great,” Tucker said sarcastically. “That means he’ll get more and more desperate the closer we get.”

Dawn grimaced at that; the thought hadn’t occurred to her. And then, as if to prove that Tucker was right, a dark form suddenly leapt at her from the trees, its menacing red eyes boring right into her.

Only years of well-honed instincts allowed Dawn to roll to the side in time. She spat the snow from her mouth and wiped it from her eyes just as two shots from Tucker’s rifle sounded in the deathly silence of the forest.

“You hit him?” Dawn gasped, shakily gripping her blade with both hands and looking nervously around.

“No such luck.” Tucker reloaded with a snap of the barrel. “He’s coming back in, though.”

Dawn held herself ready but even still was shocked by the speed at which Rick dove at her. She swung with her blade, but he ducked it easily, rolling across the ground with knife bared to strike at Tucker. The other man fired mere inches from where Rick’s head had been, only to feel the demon’s blade in his flesh.

Tucker let out a roar and dropped his rifle. Immediately, Rick scooped it up and leapt up into the tree branches once more, invisible from their view.

Dawn instantly ran over to Tucker to see how badly wounded his was. The swirl of the wind meant that she hadn’t seen Rick’s strike and had no idea whether Tucker had been mortally injured. She was surprised, then, to see that the knife cut had just been a glancing blow to Tucker’s right hand. It was bleeding and undoubtedly painful, but not serious in the slightest.

“I’ll be fine,” Tucker confirmed her own opinion. “He just wanted me to drop the gun. Think you can cover me?” he inquired, pulling out a bandana and tying it around the bleeding cut on his hand.

Dawn held her blade up and scanned the near total whiteout around them. “Against a gun?” she pointed out ruefully. Although there was a lingering doubt in her mind. So far, all of Rick’s attacks against them had been defensive…

“Remind me to bring a net and a good dozen traps the next time I fight one of these things,” Tucker agreed, hand bound and knife from belt now firmly in hand.

Slowly, the two of them circled round back-to-back, each poised for another lightning-quick strike.

“I’m really starting to wish Buffy and Spike would hurry up,” Dawn agreed. “A little super-strength and super-speed would be nice right about now…”

Personal issues with the bleached pair aside, Tucker couldn’t do anything but nod. Facing a demon with just a girl as back-up and no gun wasn’t exactly his idea of a good time.

The two of them continued to circle warily and then froze…

Amidst the swirling cascade of snowflakes, a pinkish glow slowly emerged. It became brighter and brighter, the light turning red as it became less obscure and narrowing into the twin points of Rick’s eyes.

“If you do not wish to be hurt,” he began in his usual soft-spoken tones, “I suggest you drop your weapons.”

He was less than fifteen feet away now, just far enough out of range that he could instantly escape any attack. Dawn and Tucker merely turned their blades to face him, however, neither gaze leaving his blood-red eyes.

A frown furrowed Rick’s brow at their resistance, but then a swirling red light shone behind him as the Haunting alighted on the scene. The swirling red mist dove into Rick’s body, causing his entire form to shine with an unearthly crimson light.

“They’re working together!” Tucker shouted out. Recognizing their ultimate foe, he and Dawn both lunged.

Instantly, Rick leapt free of their attack, landing hard on Tucker’s back and forcing his face down into the snow. Tucker’s knife skittered off into a snow bank and vanished beneath the relentlessly falling snow.

Dawn dove at Rick, swinging her sword high. He leapt back from her attack, causing her to overswing and lose her balance on the slick ground that covered the site of their battle. Rick instantly caught her right wrist in his hand and gave it a painful twist that sent her blade plummeting to the ground.

Dawn’s foot struck out in retaliation, the heel of her boot just grazing his shoulder. He let out a yelp of pain and vanished back into the dark, leaving Dawn scrambling desperately in the white for a weapon and Tucker still trying to force the wind back into his lungs.

Just as Dawn uncovered the hilt of her sword, however, she was suddenly tackled from behind. She let out a screech and a vicious kick before Rick’s whispered voice murmured “Sleep” into her ear, and everything faded to blackness.

Swearing, Tucker leapt to his feet despite the pain in his ribs and tried to run off after the demon, but it was too late. Rick had vanished into the trees and taken Dawn with him…


	17. Pawns

Dawn awoke with a groan, pushing herself up off of the dirt floor with shaky arms.

“For a minute there I wondered if you would ever wake up,” Rick’s softly-accented voice echoed through the small cavern.

Dawn’s head still spun with the hypnotic force that had pushed her into unconsciousness, but she managed to rise to her knees anyway to face her captor. “They’re all coming after me,” she informed him right off the bat. “You’re not going to get away with this.”

Rick looked down at her from his position above the cave entrance and sighed. The cave they were concealed in appeared to be a small enclave in the side of a rocky hill. The dirt floor and walls were littered with stone outcroppings, but there was still enough soil for tree roots to line the high ceiling.

Rick was crouched back on one of these roots, far out of her weaponless reach and also easily able to block her from reaching the exit. Even more damning was the fact that her jacket hung up on the root beside him; it was warm enough in the cave itself that she wasn’t uncomfortable, but she could still hear the wind howling outside and had no doubt that she would freeze before she could make her way home.

Dawn grimaced. Without some kind of back-up, she didn’t see how she could escape. He’d already proven much faster than her, and she doubted her strength would match up to his, either.

“You have noticed by now that you cannot escape without my permission?” Rick questioned softly, staring down at her with those eyes like red marble, gaze emotionless, distant, _inhuman_.

Dawn backed up against the far wall in case she needed to make a fighting stand and scowled up at him. “Whatever you want from me,” she snapped, “you’re not going to get it.”

Rick shook his head at that. “I had hoped that you would try to understand,” he said with a weary sigh. “After all, you are not entirely human yourself, are you?” Through the red filter of his eyes, the bright green light that shimmered around Dawn glowed even brighter with the adrenaline rushing through her system.

Dawn bit back a gulp at that. “Wh-What do you mean?” she asked shakily.

Her mind was reeling at the implications, however. The last time her existence as the Key had been important… She could still see her sister’s lifeless form at the bottom of that tower, Spike’s broken and battered body sobbing over the woman he loved, the hot red blood dripping down her stomach…

She had felt more helpless that night that she ever had in her existence, and ever since she had sworn that she would never put those she loved in danger again. Despite the apocalyptic force that stirred in her very blood, she would be an agent to save this world, not destroy it.

One of Rick’s eyebrows rose in response to the slight tremor in her voice. That obviously hadn’t been the response he’d been expecting. “I can see it, you know,” he said, somewhat puzzled. “The energy that surrounds you, composes you. It shines like a beacon.”

“Stay away from me.” Dawn’s voice sounded hollow and scared even to her own ears, but she couldn’t let this happen to her. Not again.

“You think I judge you?” Rick asked, concerned now. “Surely, they have told you by now what I am…”

“All the more reason for you to stay away from me,” Dawn hissed vehemently.

Rick sighed in that tired way once more. “I would have thought you more tolerant,” he commented sadly, “given that you treat a vampire as family.”

“You’re _nothing_ like Spike!” Dawn shot back. “He would never hurt me.”

“And I have done you such great harm, have I?” Rick countered.

“Kidnapping, putting me to sleep, and let’s not forget all the attacks earlier,” she said coldly. “If you think I’m letting my guard down around you for one second…” She let the threat trail off. Given the horror stories Veronica told her, she was thoroughly prepared to fight to death if that was what it took.

“I should not have attacked and instead sacrificed my own life?” Rick countered. “And it was not I who put you to sleep – you saw the Haunting take me.”

“Oh, and _that_ makes me feel a lot better,” Dawn retorted with a roll of her eyes. “Is that what it traded you for your aid? Me?”

Rick’s brow furrowed at that. “I have aided the Haunting no more than you have,” he insisted.

“Don’t lie to me,” Dawn countered wearily. “I saw the two of you join forces.”

“You mean you saw it possess me,” Rick shot back defensively. “I barely fought it off before it used my body to kill you!”

Dawn frowned slightly at this. Rick was caught. Didn’t he know that? Why was he still bothering to defend himself? “We know you’ve been working together,” she insisted a bit more hesitantly. “Your cover’s blown.”

“My cover, yes,” Rick agreed, gesturing to his vacant red eyes. “But I’ve got nothing whatsoever to do with—”

“The book!” Dawn countered with triumph, overcoming the foolish doubts that were creeping into her mind. “We know you took it.”

Rick blinked at that, puzzlement apparent on his brow now. “What book?” he asked, baffled.

“The one you stole from my room this afternoon?” Dawn provided sarcastically.

Rick merely shook his head.

“While Buffy was distracted?” she hinted.

“I have no clue what you are talking about,” he insisted. “I stopped by to see if you were there, and since you weren’t and your sister was otherwise occupied, I left.”

“With the spell book,” Dawn insisted.

A worried look crossed Rick’s features at that. “The one that would tell us how to kill the Haunting?” he asked. “How can we kill it without the book?”

“Exactly why you stole it,” Dawn said, but her voice was getting more hesitant. Rick was already found out. There was no reason for him to deny this, unless…

“I want it gone as much as you do,” Rick insisted vehemently.

Dawn’s voice wavered now. “B-But you’re helping it,” she countered. “Working for it?”

“It’s trying to kill us all!” Rick seemed shocked at the accusation.

Dawn’s brow furrowed as she reassessed the situation. “You’re not working with the Haunting?” she said, puzzled.

“No!” Rick exclaimed in relief that she seemed to be catching on at last.

“Th-Then why are you…?” Dawn began before her eyes widened. “It was just me you were after, then,” she accused.

“You are surprised?” Rick countered, his voice its usual quiet timbre.

Dawn instantly took up a defensive stance. “Sadly so,” she agreed, “but you’re not going to take me without a fight.”

A scowl crossed Rick’s brow, and his reddened eyes narrowed. “You do not understand…” he began.

“I think I understand perfectly,” Dawn countered with a look of grim determination. “And you’re either going to let me out of here,” she informed him matter-of-factly, “or you’ll have to kill me while I escape.” A deep breath, and she ran for the exit.

Rick started in surprise for a second before he leapt down at her…

* * *

Lena awoke with a groan, rubbing at where one of her antennae had been painfully nicked in the fall. She blinked twice, opened her eyes, and…

“Aaaaiiieeeee!”

The sudden wail halted Tucker right in his tracks outside the door to the lodge. “What in tarnation…?” he paused in his efforts to find some decent back-up to help save Dawn and scanned the snow-covered front yard in vain.

Lena’s ears perked up at the distant voice, however, and she let out another scream. “Help!” She nervously spun around in place in the underground room, watching the red eyes that surrounded her in terror.

Tucker frowned at the cry, recognizing the nasal pitch of Lena’s voice. “Where the hell are you?” he demanded, trudging off into the snow in the direction where he’d heard the cry for help.

“They’re closing in!” Lena screamed back, fumbling in vain for any weapon she might have on her person. She came up empty and screamed again.

“Where _are_ you?!” Tucker shouted back, slightly alarmed now.

“Underground!” Lena shouted out. “There’s a hole beneath the snow!” She watched the eyes warily.

Tucker instantly froze in his tracks. “And what good’s it gonna do if I fall in it?” he demanded, irritated.

“You can help me fight…” Lena began before she froze mid-speech. It suddenly occurred to her that the red lights around her hadn’t moved once during their little shouting match. In fact, she didn’t think they’d moved at all since she’d woken up. “Wait a minute…” she began, slightly confused.

The red eyes didn’t respond in the slightest.

“You still out there?” Tucker’s voice sounded through the layer of snow that had formed over the opening to the underground room.

“Be careful of the trapdoor!” Looking up now, Lena could see that was what she’d fallen through. By some magical force, the snow wasn’t falling into the underground room but rather concealed the entrance.

“Duh!” Tucker shot back, long branch now in hand as he felt around on the ground before him. “You under attack or what?”

Lena frowned and took a cautious step towards one of the pairs of red eyes. “Not sure,” she replied. Nervously, she reached out one hand when she stood directly before the eyes and felt…wood? “It’s a statue…” she realized slowly, tracing the carved outline of one humanoid form.

At that moment, Tucker’s branch landed right on the opening. “Shit!” he exclaimed as the ground suddenly gave way beneath his support.

“You’re right above me,” Lena provided.

“Noticed,” Tucker agreed. “How far down are you?”

“About ten feet.”

Tucker let out a weary sigh. “You got a light?”

“No,” Lena shook her head before looking at the glowing red around her, “not really.”

“I’m dropping down my flashlight,” Tucker informed her, “and then I’m gonna get some rope. Just shine the light up through the snow so I can find you again, all right?”

“All right,” Lena agreed, watching the flashlight fall through the snow-covered opening above and deftly catching it.

“You got it?”

She turned on the light. “I got it,” she agreed.

“I’ll be right back, then,” Tucker said before heading back to the inn. Honestly, how many women needed saving tonight?

Lena let out a weary sigh and directed the light at the statues surrounding her, fully able to see them for the first time. A shiver ran up her spine at the demonic figures that circled her. Most were humanoid in shape but sported features of animals, demons, and some hideous deformities she didn’t even want to begin to guess at. The only things the figures held in common were the glowing, red eyes and rows of horns that crowned their heads.

Lena shivered slightly, and not from the cold. There was no doubt whatsoever in her mind that this place was the site of some ritual, and whatever it was, it felt old, powerful, and dangerous…

* * *

Rick was faster, but Dawn was more desperate. He landed right on her back, but she managed to twist beneath him and knee him right between the legs. He let out the characteristic ‘oof!’ of universal male pain, and she shoved him off, aiming a hard fist to his jaw.

Her hand stung from the force of her blow but, more importantly, Rick slumped to the ground for an instant, arms limp. It was the only second she needed to yank his jacket from his shoulders and pull the knife he’d stolen from Veronica from his belt.

By the time Rick returned to rather painful reality, Dawn had the blade at his throat and easy access to the escape route. He winced inwardly at his miscalculation of her abilities.

“All right now,” Dawn panted, a dangerous hint in her voice, “you are going to tell me _exactly_ what is going on right now, or I’ll slit your throat and sort it out back at the nice, safe inn.”

“It’s safer here,” Rick countered automatically.

The blade at his throat dug into the skin slightly. “Explain,” she demanded in a no-nonsense tone.

“The Haunting,” Rick hastened to do so. “It has never reached me out this far.”

“Yeah, great,” Dawn said sarcastically, “so out of the frying pan and—”

“I meant you no harm,” Rick insisted.

“That’s a funny definition of ‘harm’ you’ve got.” Dawn’s grip tightened. “And I’m losing patience,” she informed him.

“Then, what do you want me to tell you?” Rick demanded, exasperated.

“What exactly it is we’re doing out here would be a nice start,” Dawn suggested, looking around somewhat anxiously. “You working alone?”

“I’m not ‘working’ anywhere!” Rick protested. “ _You_ chased _me_ out here. And then I was possessed, and the Haunting nearly killed you, so I figured it would be a good idea to retreat to safety.”

“That’s a nice story,” Dawn scoffed, “except for the kidnapping and attacks.”

“I feared for my own safety,” Rick countered. “Would you have acted differently?”

“Nice try,” Dawn said sarcastically, “but the games you’ve been playing with me are hardly innocent.”

“What games?” Rick demanded.

The knife cut deeper, causing one drop of red blood to slide down the metal edge. “I know what your kind does,” Dawn hissed.

Rick’s own eyes narrowed at that. “And I thought you were different,” he retorted, anger in his voice.

Dawn had never heard him sound so passionate about anything before. It surprised her. “You lied to me,” she insisted.

“Of course, I lied to you,” he shot back. “Everyone who knows the Kayeri thinks them an abomination. How else can I survive but to conceal what I am?”

“Yeah, that must be rough,” Dawn retorted coldly. “None of you victims like you. How truly tragic.”

“I have no victims,” Rick insisted. “If I lived as a Kayeri, do you honestly think I would be trapped in this frozen wilderness working as a demon hunter?”

“So you’re…what then?” Dawn demanded. “Just a misunderstood innocent?”

“Yes,” Rick said vehemently.

Dawn rolled her eyes. “You honestly expect me to believe that?” she countered.

“You trusted me well enough before you learned what I was,” he pointed out.

“Except for the whole lying to me part. And stealing the book.”

“I didn’t steal the book!” he persisted. “And I had to lie to you.”

“Oh? Really?” Dawn didn’t sound pleased with the admission.

“This is what always happens,” he insisted vehemently. “Everyone who finds out what my father was… Do you know how many hunts I have had to evade? How many times I have fled for my life? They killed my mother when they found out that she had willingly bedded a Kayeri, you know. They would just as easily kill me. Just like you.” He tensed against the blade before closing his eyes wearily. “I merely wished to help. I-I didn’t plan to get close. I just…you were so kind, and then I saw that you were concealing your own identity, and I watched how you could trust a vampire, and I thought that maybe, just maybe, you would understand…”

It was easily the longest speech Dawn had ever heard from him. There was also this note of pleading in his voice – of finality – that made her for the first time doubt her presuppositions about what had happened tonight.

“It doesn’t matter anymore, though, does it?” Rick countered. “I am tired of running, tired of hiding – especially from you…” He trailed off.

And Dawn loosened her grip on his throat.

His demon eyes opened wide in response to that, and he turned to look at her in disbelief.

“I shouldn’t believe you,” Dawn pointed out, still keeping the tip of her knife trained on him.

“Then why do you?” he countered curiously, head cocked to one side in a manner oddly reminiscent of Spike.

“Because I know all too well that even demons with the worst reputations aren’t always all bad,” she countered before her brow furrowed. “That, and we’ve been set at each other’s throats all evening. It smells suspiciously like Haunting work to me.”

“It plays with us as pawns,” Rick agreed.

Dawn nodded grimly. “So you get one more chance to work with the team,” she decided. “But keep anything from me again…”

“You do not hold your own secret?” Rick countered, focusing intently on the green light that surrounded her. “Or perhaps you also understand what it means for the very nature of your existence to put you in danger…”

“Perhaps,” Dawn responded evenly. She gestured up to the ceiling with her knife. “Get my jacket,” she requested, watching his leap up to the ceiling with an impressed whistle. She took her coat gratefully from his hand and returned his own jacket to him. “We need to get back to the lodge,” she decided. “If the Haunting’s been using us as puppets all night, I don’t even want to think what it’s been doing to the others…”

* * *

And, back in the soft, warm bed in the lodge, Buffy stirred slightly into wakefulness. A terrific yawn, a few smacks of her lips, and she awoke to find…


	18. Hangovers

“Mmm,” Buffy sighed contentedly, coiling her body further around Spike’s. Semi-consciously, she brushed a gentle kiss over the strong muscles of his chest before hunkering back down for a lazy morning.

Spike stirred lightly at her actions as well, looping one arm around her waist as he turned to face her and…

“Wait a minute!”

The exclamations were made almost simultaneously, accompanied by twin pairs of round, startled eyes.

“How on—?”

“Bloody—!”

With comical synchronicity, they both noticed that the other was naked at the same time, then both glanced down at their own bodies before scrambling desperately for the sheets. After much chaos and a bit of childish sheet tugging, they were both covered well enough to risk looking at the other again.

Buffy gulped, face still flushed from seeing Spike Junior long, hard, and fully erect. “Um…don’t take this the wrong way,” she began, staring studiously at the headboard just to the right of Spike’s head, “but I don’t remember a thing that happened last night…”

“Good,” Spike let out a sigh of relief, his own eyes boring intently into the sheets between them, “’s not just me, then.”

Buffy frowned. “What do you mean?” she whimpered illogically. “I was really _that_ unmemorable?”

“You just said I was!” Spike shot back defensively, cheeks tinged slightly pink in embarrassment.

Buffy ventured to look at him at that, and the sight of Spike, of all people, with the sheet pulled up around his chin like a blushing virgin, face flushed with mortification, and eyes studiously avoiding her body at all costs, sent a little chortle of laughter from her lips. She hastily brought her hand to her mouth, trying to cover it up, but it was too late.

He shot her an offended look and clutched the sheet to himself more tightly.

Unable to deny the complete ridiculousness of their behavior any longer, Buffy burst into all-out hysterical laughter. “You don’t,” giggle, “have to,” snort, “look so…hee-hee… _scandalized_ ,” she shot out amidst her mirth.

Spike opened his mouth to protest when suddenly the humor of the situation struck him as well. Unbidden, a chuckle escaped his throat, and half in horror he felt himself slowly began to crack up until he and Buffy were both overcome with irrepressible laughter, still naked in bed together with defensive sheets wrapped around their bodies tightly.

“It’s not like,” Spike pointed out, trying desperately to speak amidst his own laughter now, “we’ve never,” snicker, “seen it all before.”

Buffy nodded and banged her fist on the bed with newfound amusement. “You should’ve seen yourself!” she countered. “You were all, like: ‘Augh! My bloody honor!’” She did an absolutely horrible imitation of his accent.

“ _Me_?!” he retorted in disbelief. “You got this ‘Ew, boy cooties!’ expression on your face! What are you, Slayer, six?”

She managed to scowl amidst her laughter and batted him playfully in the arm, before chortling anew. “You know what’s even funnier?” she asked, thighs shifting experimentally under the sheet.

“What?” he asked curiously, stifling his own convulsions.

“I don’t think we even had sex,” Buffy countered. One hand slipped under the covers to check. She found herself practically dripping with eagerness from sleeping in Spike’s arms all night, but she still found the woeful tightness of one who hasn’t had a lover for far too long. “Nope,” she shook her head with a giddy little giggle.

“Then what the bloody hell ‘re we doin’ in bed together?” he demanded, sniggering still as his head fell back down onto the pillow and he let the sheet slip back down his chest.

“I have no clue,” Buffy agreed, quieting her own mirth and taking up a parallel position beside him. She frowned slightly and dug her thumbs into her temples. “What happened last night?” she groaned.

“There was that ball,” Spike had no difficulty placing down the earlier events of the evening. “We were dancin’… Did we get drunk?”

Buffy frowned. “I only had half a glass of champagne,” she concluded.

He gave her a pointed look.

“No, that’s not enough to get me drunk!” she shot back defensively.

“Really,” he retorted sarcastically, “’cause I seem to recall _someone_ gettin’ loopy off my whisky and runnin’ around town drunk until she barfed all over my boots…”

“ _You_ gave me, like, three bottles that night!” she defended herself. “And it was _you_ who suggested that we go to that bar. And it is _so_ not my fault that you drive that motorcycle so fast…”

“Oh yeah, sure,” he rolled his eyes heavenwards, “’s all Spike’s fault, as usual.”

A shy smile lit up her face at that. They hadn’t been this easygoing with each other since before that fateful day when they first tore down that abandoned house. It was nice to see him referring to their past lives together, joking and snarking with the best of them, that amused little dimpled smile on his face. His sparkling blue eyes met hers for an instant, and she realized that this was _him_ – this was the Spike who had stolen her heart all those years ago…

“So, on a more serious note,” he cut through her dreamy speculations, “what ‘xactly _did_ happen last night?”

Buffy sighed and tried to remember. “Well, we were dancing,” she began, “…and then the chandelier fell!”

“That’s right,” Spike’s own excitement began to pick up at this revelation. “There was a stampede…”

“…’cause the Haunting did the blood covering the walls act again,” Buffy finished. “And then Rick…”

Spike’s eyes instantly flashed with anger. “ _Kayeri_ ,” he remembered with a hiss. “After my Bit. We were goin’ after him.” He instantly began looking around for his pants as the vitality of their mission hit him once more.

“Spike,” Buffy cut off his search with a small hand curved around one of his well-muscled biceps.

He stilled at the touch, hardly able to believe how good it felt. Desire flooded through his veins anew, and he desperately fought it back to try to make out what she was saying.

“It’s morning.” She gestured over to the open curtains which, fortunately, weren’t causing Spike to be burned to dust since the clouds that had accompanied last night’s storm were still shadowing the world in a dark gray. The faint light of morning could definitely be seen through the cloud-cover, however. “We slept through the whole night. Whatever hunt was on last night…” she trailed off apologetically.

He sighed and slumped back down onto the bed. “’s all over now,” he agreed wearily. “So how’d we end up snoozin’ the night away in each other’s arms, then?”

“We came back to get weapons,” Buffy remembered slowly.

“The tranquilizers,” Spike nodded.

“And then…” Buffy trailed off.

“You fell asleep,” he recalled, pointing at her accusingly.

“I did?” Buffy was drawing a complete mental blank.

“I-I tried to wake you, and then…”

“You took our clothes off?” she asked in suspicious disbelief.

He gave her an offended look. “I bloody well did not!” he exclaimed in outrage.

“Then how did we…?” She gestured back and forth to where they were both still covered by the sheets.

He frowned. “Don’t know,” he agreed. “I couldn’t wake you, and then…I fell asleep, too. Tried to fight it, but…”

“The Haunting?” Buffy inquired.

He nodded.

They both looked to where their clothes had been scattered about the room.

“You don’t think…?” Buffy began hesitantly.

“Either that, or someone thought it’d be a right funny practical joke to pull on us,” Spike countered.

She frowned. “It wasn’t funny.”

His scarred eyebrow cocked in her direction.

Another unwitting giggle escaped her lips. “Okay, so it was kinda funny,” she admitted sheepishly.

“Great,” Spike sighed, “so our spook’s got a sense of humor… What do we do now?”

Buffy let out a little sigh of her own, looked over to where the man she desired lay naked beside her, and felt the wetness pool between her thighs with renewed urgency. “Well…” she began hesitantly, leaning in over him…

* * *

A black BMW swerved around the last departing ambulance to come to a screeching halt in the snow-filled parking lot outside the Cascade Mountain Lodge. Fortunately, the nearly constant arrival and departure of the emergency vehicles that evening had kept the lot largely clear of last night’s blizzard.

The door opened, and a figure of medium height stepped out, feet easily tracking through the snow in the well-worn Sorrel boots she sported for just such a winter emergency. One eyebrow raised at the ambulance whose lights and sirens were just now vanishing off into the distance, she headed for the inn itself.

The sight that met her as she rounded the corner of the grand log building had her eyebrows raised even further. A man in a camouflage army jacket, blue jeans, and combat boots stood out in the middle of a snowy field, yanking at a thick rope he’d attached to a nearby tree. As she watched, the man pulled hard on the rope and from the other end, which had previously seemed to be buried in the snow, a hand emerged.

She approached the man, watching with curious disinterest as a female D’vorak Demon, of all things, suddenly materialized from the hole in the ground, wearing a black evening dress and high-heeled boots.

“Excuse me?” she asked politely of the man, who now sat back against the tree huffing for breath.

Tucker cast the buxom blond in front of him a disbelieving look. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded. He couldn’t help himself from appraising her, however, and finding himself slightly flustered at the beauty before him.

“You could help me, perhaps?” she requested hopefully. “I am looking for a Dawn and Spike Summers?”

Tucker let out a weary sigh. “Dawn was kidnapped by a Kayeri Demon ‘round midnight,” he provided. “They’re out lost in the woods somewhere. Spike vanished into thin air a few hours before that. The Slayer vanished with him. Whether that means he’s more or less likely to be alive…” He shrugged.

Siggy let out a resigned sigh and rolled her eyes, perfectly used to this sort of odd circumstance. “I knew I should have never let the two of them leave home alone,” she decided…

* * *

With a breathless gasp, Dawn opened her eyes to find that they were on solid ground once more. Shakily, she slipped free of Rick’s arms and promptly decided that ricocheting off of tree trunks at lightning speed was not the mode of transportation for her.

“You are all right?” Rick asked hesitantly, the steadying hand at her waist lingering a bit longer than was absolutely necessary.

Dawn nodded and composed herself, turning toward the lodge. “Well, at least you weren’t lying about the fact that that’s a hell of a lot faster,” she commented with a wry smile.

Rick ventured a nervous smile as well and took his place beside her as the walked up to the glass doors of the recreation room. “I cannot imagine where the others went,” he commented, holding the door open for her…

And he was instantly met by the click of a gun barrel.

“Um…a little help?” he said nervously, staring intently at where the end of Tucker’s spare rifle was just inches from his face.

Dawn brushed aside the weapon with a roll of her eyes. “He’s on our side,” she informed a very suspicious Tucker.

“What?!” Tucker exclaimed in complete disbelief.

“See, I told you that she would return home when she got tired of being kidnapped,” Siggy said reasonably, snacking on a bag of pretzels.

“Siggy!” Dawn exclaimed in delight, catching the other woman up in a hug.

“What’s a ‘Siggy’?” Tucker asked, puzzled.

“That is,” Rick replied matter-of-factly. “But someone who is not me stole the book for her to read…”

“Uh…what happened to your eyes?” Lena inquired of him, also confused.

“And who am I s’posed to shoot?” Tucker wondered, gun still half pointed at Rick.

“You’re in early!” Dawn pointed out in obvious delight.

“You are crushing the pretzels,” Siggy informed her, dangling the snack food up before her before taking another handful.

“His eyes are red ‘cause he’s a Kayeri,” Tucker informed Lena.

“Will you stop pointing that gun at me?” Rick pleaded.

“Rrricardo’s a demon?” Lena asked in surprise.

“Where’d you get those?” Dawn eyed the familiar pretzel bag suspiciously.

“I’m only half Kayeri!” Rick insisted.

“The lady at the front desk kindly gave me the key to your room,” Siggy informed Dawn.

“No wonder I was so attracted to him…” Lena pondered.

“Spike is _sooo_ going to kill you for stealing his junk food,” Dawn told Siggy.

“If we can ever find him, that is,” Tucker pointed out.

“So, what kind of demon did you say you were?” Lena asked flirtatiously.

“Spike can kill me all he wants,” Siggy brushed off the threat with an unconcerned wave of her hand, “after that drive, I was _hungry_.”

“I’m only half demon!” Rick repeated pleadingly.

“Shut. Up!” Tucker’s rifle went off, shooting out the open window and into the woods.

Everyone froze in their scattered conversations.

“Now,” Tucker began, feeling his blood begin to boil, “am I s’posed to shoot him or what?”

“No, of course not,” Dawn shook her head, slightly baffled as to how Tucker could be at all confused. “Rick’s our ally in defeating the Haunting.”

Tucker blinked. “And when did this happen?” he demanded.

“After he kidnapped me,” Dawn replied matter-of-factly. “Now, what was this about Spike still being missing?”

Siggy tisked her lightly. “Cannot even keep track of one vampire,” she teased.

“Well, he was supposed to help out with the hunt last night,” Dawn countered. “I was too busy to keep tabs on him.”

“This is what you get for chasing your allies around in the forest all night,” Siggy countered.

“I would like to second that,” Rick agreed.

“It is no matter, though,” Siggy teased Dawn. “I shall free you from another of your cucumbers.”

“ ‘Pickles’,” Dawn corrected, following Siggy down the hall. “And what about the others? Have we lost them, too?”

Lena rolled her eyes. “ _Xel_ decided to try to scare the Haunting away with his snoring,” she retorted.

“Veronica probably went to bed, too, then,” Dawn decided. “And Buffy was with Spike…”

“So, does that mean that I can go to sleep, too?” Lena demanded in a whiny voice. “Because after last night…”

“Go ahead,” Dawn assured her, scowling at where Siggy had just unlocked the door to their room. “I can’t believe Ms. Danvers just gave you the key,” she shook her head.

“No one ever suspects blondes,” Siggy said simply. She gave Rick a grateful smile when he held the door open for them, and the three of them vanished inside.

“Wait a minute…” Tucker, still flummoxed, stood in the direct center of the hallway. “Why amn’t I s’posed to shoot Rick just ‘cause he kidnapped you?” he demanded of the closed door. “And where were you all night? And what the hell is a ‘Siggy’?!” he exclaimed in despair.

The closed door held no answers for the poor, confused man.

“They’re tryin’ to drive me crazy,” Tucker decided with a shake of his head. “Make me completely lose my mind…” he continued to grumble under his breath. “That’s it, I’m goin’ to bed…” He trudged off in the direction of his own room, leaving the mystery behind.

* * *

“God,” Dawn sighed wearily, rubbing at the knot in her shoulder as she entered the common room of her and Spike’s suite, “where on earth could Spike have _possibly_ gotten to?”

Siggy merely shook her head. “You were up all night, so I will blame this on how tired you are rather than as a reflection upon your deductive capabilities.” She opened the door to Spike’s room…

“Eek!” Dawn squealed at the sight of her sister and Spike naked in bed together. She quickly covered up her eyes.

“Eek!” Buffy made the exact same sound and halted her attempt to kiss the far-too-tempting vampire. She clutched the sheet up around her chest with renewed fervor at their sudden audience.

“Bugger!” Spike exclaimed, fastening the sheet tightly around his waist as well.

“Good morning, short, pale, and not _entirely_ unattractive,” Siggy teased, apparently not put off by the situation in the slightest. “And you, I gather, are the Buffy I have heard so much about?”

Buffy cast a dark look in Spike’s direction. “Who’s she?” she demanded.

“Siggy…” Spike moaned, burying his face in his hands. “’m never gonna hear the end of this, am I?” he inquired.

“Never,” Siggy assured him with a bright smile.

“ _That’s_ Siggy?!” Buffy demanded incredulously, taking in the blonde’s model build and ample chest. Green-eyed jealousy began to burn deep in her veins.

“What on earth are you doing?” Dawn demanded, venturing to peek out from between her fingers. Seeing all inappropriate body parts were safely covered up, she put herself full into her enraged rant. “The rest of us are out there freezing our asses off and getting attacked while the two of you are in here having a slumber party?!” she demanded.

Buffy gulped and suddenly felt like a horny, delinquent teenager that had just been busted by mom and dad. “It wasn’t us!” she insisted. “It was the Haunting.”

“Uh-huh.” It was physically impossible to sound more incredulous than Dawn did at that moment. “The Haunting made you go to bed together?”

“It did,” Spike agreed, the same embarrassment taking over him that had Buffy. “Put us both to sleep while we were gettin’ the tranquilizers.”

“And did the Haunting remove your clothes as well?” Siggy added with an amused snicker.

Two vigorous nods.

“Uh-huh.” Dawn’s eyebrows had practically shot to her hairline now. “Are you sure you want to stick with that?” she inquired. “You don’t want to change it to, say, ‘We accidentally tripped and landed on the bed, and our clothes just happened to fall off in the process’?”

Spike’s eyes narrowed. “Oi!” he complained. “Now I know you’re teasin’ us.”

“We really are telling the truth,” Buffy insisted.

Dawn frowned. “So, our local malevolent, non-corporeal entity decided to give up its evil ways and play matchmaker with the two of you last night?” she demanded.

“Exactly,” Buffy declared.

Behind her, Spike nodded vigorously.

Dawn let out a weary sigh. “I’m going to bed,” she decided. “Maybe when I wake up, this will all make an ounce of sense…”

Siggy yawned as well. “An excellent suggestion.” She cast an amused smile at Buffy and Spike. “If you have no further use of your bed,” she riddled Spike lightly, “perhaps I could borrow it for this afternoon?”

“Uh…right.” Spike’s face was definitely tinged pink by now. He frowned when he noticed Rick trying to look inconspicuous at the back of the watching pack, though. “Oi, Kayeri,” he pointed out.

“I’ll explain later,” Dawn said, sounding completely exhausted. “Now, can the two of you get dressed so that we can all go to sleep and the disaster that was last night will finally be over?”

And, guiltily, Buffy and Spike scrambled for their clothes…


	19. Cold Hands...

“No. Bleedin’. Way.”

Spike’s vehement objection was followed by a weary roll of Dawn’s eyes.

“I mean it this time!” Spike insisted.

“Look,” Dawn’s patience faded, “it’s not really your decision to make. In case you’ve forgotten, _I’m_ in charge here.”

Spike’s eyes narrowed. “ _Kayeri_ ,” he hissed. “Do I hafta spell it out for you?”

“He’s not in league with the Haunting, and he wants to help us out!” Dawn insisted.

“ _That_ part’s not bein’ disputed,” Spike shot back.

Dawn brought her hand up to her forehead and shook her head. “What then?” she demanded.

“Don’t think I haven’t seen the way he looks at you,” Spike muttered in a gruff voice.

“Spike, you’re convinced our grocer’s a psycho serial rapist just because he helped me carry my bags to the car that one time!” she exclaimed.

“He is, too,” Spike insisted. “The way he thanks you for your business every time you go in. An’ I _saw_ him read your address off that check you gave him.”

Dawn gave him an incredulous look. “Spike…” she began in a warning tone.

“But this is different,” he turned the subject back on course. “Those things prey upon innocent, young things like you. Do all sorts ‘f nasty things.”

“I’m not a kid,” Dawn pointed out. “I can handle myself _if_ – and that’s a big ‘if’ – he tries anything inappropriate.”

“Still say we can’t trust the wanker,” Spike insisted.

Dawn rolled her eyes. “You don’t trust _anybody_ ,” she countered. “And, honestly, you can’t chase every potential boyfriend of mine away for the rest of my life.”

“ _Boyfriend_?! Damn right, I don’t trust ‘im!” he exclaimed, rising up off the couch as his argument took on newfound energy. “Demons – real insidious lot, make you think they care about you, but all the time all they care about is themselves. You can’t ever believe anythin’ a demon tells you!”

Dawn looked him skeptically up and down.

“Oh, bugger,” Spike cut off in sudden realization, rolling his eyes heavenwards. He turned to their intent audience. “Anyone wanna give this a shot that hasn’t just lost all credibility?”

Buffy just stared blankly at the sudden explosion that had occurred between Spike and her sister. Beside her, Siggy was trying not-too-hard not to laugh out loud.

“They do this often?” Buffy inquired, still somewhat stunned at the bizarre little argument that had just taken place before her eyes.

“All the time,” Siggy agreed, giggling slightly at the defeated expression on Spike’s face.

“Should’ve known I wouldn’t get any help from bossy birds like you two,” he grumbled under his breath before flopping back down on the couch beside Buffy, arms crossed over his chest in a defensive manner.

Dawn gave him a soft smile. “I really do know how to take care of myself, Spike,” she pointed out in a forgiving tone.

“I know.” The comment was muttered under his breath so that it was almost entirely inaudible, but everyone heard it nonetheless. Embarrassed by the complete pansy he was turning out to be, he turned to bury himself in a bag of Doritos.

Buffy bit her lip and fought the tingling desire in her fingers to just reach over and rest a comforting hand on his thigh. She clutched her hands tighter together, resisting the urge. After all, one nude practical joke by an evil poltergeist didn’t grant her touching rights.

“I would like to see this temple,” Siggy was commenting when Buffy finally forced her attention away from the cool, lean thigh that was just barely brushing hers and back to the discussion at hand.

Dawn nodded. “You remember where it is?”

“Of course,” Siggy agreed. “It might be advisable to place some sort of warning around the opening as well. There is a danger that civilians could fall in.”

“Speaking of civilians,” Dawn agreed with a sigh, “what does dear, stubborn, old Ms. Danvers say now?”

“Uh…what?” Buffy was dimly aware that the question had been directed at her. Her attention had drifted again, however, when she noticed the way Spike’s prominent Adam’s Apple bobbed up and down when he swallowed. Her mouth practically watered, thirsting for the taste of the pale, white skin there. And she reinvented the scene between them that morning – him naked and beneath her, grinding his hardness against her inner thigh as she savored the taste of his skin, moaning aloud in need when she took his Adam’s Apple fully into her mouth and sucked, his hips thrusting up into hers and…

“…like I asked you to?” Dawn repeated the question.

“Huh?” Buffy blinked up at her and shook her head. “Uh, I mean, yeah, I talked to Ms. Danvers. Turns out there was a spontaneous evacuation after last night, anyway. So, I guess she really had no choice but to close down.”

Dawn breathed a sigh of relief. “At least that’s something,” she agreed. “Because looking after ourselves is turning out to be a big enough job.”

“A near impossible one without that book,” Buffy pointed out.

“Book?” Siggy inquired. “Has it gone missing, then?”

“Yesterday afternoon,” Buffy informed her primly, glad to have some knowledge that the other woman didn’t. “And what’s our opinion on whether Rick stole it, anyway?”

“Yeah, Bit,” Spike said with a satisfied smile on his face, “what’s the verdict there?”

“He says he didn’t take it,” Dawn insisted.

Spike rolled his eyes. “And of course we believe ‘im,” he said sarcastically.

“We’re not sure,” Dawn countered. “If nothing else, it’s possible the Haunting possessed someone long enough for them to steal it…”

“Oh sure, just so long as Rrrrricardo’s in the clear,” Spike sulked.

Dawn gave him an annoyed look. “Are you _ever_ going to drop this?” she demanded.

“No,” he insisted petulantly.

“At least he is honest about it,” Siggy teased, obviously more entertained by the situation than concerned.

Buffy bit her lip and contemplated the distance between her hand and Spike’s thigh once more.

“That’s one thing no one can deny,” Dawn agreed, sparing Spike an amused smile. “So, are we done arguing now? ‘Cause there’s a lot of work to be done…”

Spike raised a scarred eyebrow in her direction and dropped the bag of Doritos. “Yeah, yeah,” he agreed.

“Right then,” Dawn nodded. “Siggy better go check out that temple. Buffy, why don’t you wait go along to help pull her back out?”

“I’m good with the super strength,” Buffy agreed reluctantly. “What about the others?”

Dawn checked the clock. “Let them sleep this afternoon. If tonight’s anywhere near as disastrous as last night, they’ll need their rest.”

“And you two don’t?” Spike countered, gesturing to where the two women were clearly awake, despite having only gotten four hours of sleep that morning.

“We’ll live,” Dawn insisted. “We had far less during the Rusalka affair.”

A grudging snort in response. Spike was apparently going all-out in his impression of a Neanderthal male.

“Let us go, then,” Siggy stood up, plan well-defined in her mind.

Buffy reluctantly rose from her position beside Spike as well. “What are you guys going to do?” she asked, directing her question hopefully at Spike.

“Gotta get Siggy that text to translate, don’t we?” he commented.

Buffy frowned. “You know where it is?” she demanded, curious.

Spike and Dawn exchanged a conspiratorial grin. “Not a clue, luv.”

“Then, how…?” she began.

“Think we were just wastin’ our time starin’ at that gibberish?” Spike retorted.

Buffy blinked extra slowly.

“We took turns memorizing the whole thing,” Dawn provided for her. “We just need to write it all out, and Siggy’s got her text back.”

“You memorized all _that_?” Buffy repeated incredulously. “Why?”

“Well, it’s not exactly the first time something like this has happened,” Dawn pointed out. “And it often lulls the enemy into a false sense of security if they don’t know we’ve still got vital information.”

Siggy merely rolled her eyes. “We must leave these two to gloat to each other,” she said in her accented voice, opening the door. “A hidden temple awaits our investigation.”

With one last furtive glance in Spike’s direction, Buffy reluctantly followed Siggy out of the door…

* * *

“Well?” Buffy had never been more bored in her life, and after half an hour she couldn’t keep the sarcasm from her voice any longer. “You find anything?”

“It is quite obviously a cult temple,” Siggy’s voice echoed up from the hole in the snow.

“Oh, _obviously_ ,” Buffy grumbled slightly.

“Did you say something?” Siggy inquired.

“Nothing,” Buffy assured her in a too-sweet voice. Going with the incredibly immature impulses that had first taken over her when she realized how absolutely gorgeous Spike’s ‘secretary’ was, she stuck out her tongue in the general direction where she guessed Siggy was.

“It might be less dull for you if you were to help me investigate,” Siggy suggested.

“Then, how would we get out exactly?” Buffy shot back a bit snidely.

“I presumed you would be able to pull yourself back out on the rope,” Siggy said simply, “but if you cannot—”

Buffy refused to back down from a challenge by _that_ woman, even an unwitting one. With a graceful leap, she landed in a crouched position at the direct center of the temple.

“Or you could just do that,” Siggy shrugged, returning to her inspection of the text on the back of one of the statues.

Buffy looked around at the eerie wooden statues surrounding her and felt a little shiver run up the back of her spine. “Nice place,” she said sarcastically.

“But fascinating,” Siggy commented, making several notes in a notebook that looked to be the identical twin to Dawn’s.

“Oh, _quite_ ,” Buffy grumbled, scrunching up her nose at a bear-like demon with a second head growing out of its stomach.

Siggy looked up at that, frowned, and returned to her work. “You do not like me,” she commented off-handedly.

Buffy froze. “I didn’t say that,” she insisted.

“But you are implying it quite frequently.” Siggy turned to the inscription on the next statue, not slowing down her work for a second, despite their conversation. “It is perhaps because you see me as a challenge to your amorous intentions for Spike?”

Inwardly, Buffy was swearing. Dammit, why did the other woman have to be smart and perceptive, too? And _Swedish_? And she didn’t know what that last one had to do with anything, but she was sure it had to be some sort of reason not to like Siggy. And wasn’t there _anything_ about this woman that wasn’t perfect? “S-Spike?” Buffy said incredulously, trying to laugh it off.

“I have known you for less than an hour,” Siggy didn’t back down in the slightest, “but it is clear that you desire him.”

“D-Desire him?” Buffy gulped, her face flushing slightly.

“It is nothing to be ashamed of,” Siggy assured her. “He is quite a skilled lover.”

“I _know_ what kind of lover he is!” Buffy snapped back defensively. “A-And why do you know?” she demanded.

Siggy sighed and paused in her work to look at Buffy at that. “So you _are_ that Buffy,” she commented with a sigh.

“What do you mean ‘that Buffy’? And you didn’t answer my question?” Buffy was developing a sinking feeling in her stomach. She’d noticed Spike had been a bit distant, and if he had this bombshell to go home to, that certainly explained it.

“The Buffy who broke his heart,” Siggy clarified. “And it surprises you so much to learn that Spike and I have been intimate together?”

Buffy felt the sudden urge to retch, the panic was swelling up so violently in her gut. “I…”

Siggy frowned at the ragged expression on the other woman’s face. “We are no longer together,” she assured her quickly. “I love Spike very much, but I am not so much a fool to fall _in_ love with him.”

Buffy didn’t feel reassured. “You and Spike…?” she repeated. Inwardly, a nasty little voice was making all sorts of inappropriate comments. _How could he even manage to screw her? Her chest is so big, he wouldn’t even be able to hold her…_ The snark wasn’t alleviating her fears any, though.

“You love him?” There was a definite frown on Siggy’s face now as if she were pondering the mysteries of the universe itself. She quickly came to the conclusion that her assessment of Buffy was correct. “You are not as I imagined,” she said in a surprised tone.

“Imagined?” Buffy’s head was still spinning with confusion and possibilities. Above it all, though, was the horrible fear that Spike was slipping from between her fingers once more. “Spike told you about me?”

Siggy let out a weary sigh and sat down on a stone bench that lined one of the walls, gesturing for Buffy to sit as well. Hesitantly, Buffy followed her lead, her hands balled into tight fists, nails threatening to cut deep into her flesh.

“Spike almost never mentions your name,” Siggy began slowly, deliberately, considering the other woman intently, “and when he does, it is with such pain that I have never questioned him about you. But that does not mean that I do not know what happened between you. I need only observe him to understand.”

“How?” The answer hadn’t been what Buffy had been expecting. The turmoil in her gut remained, but a hint of curiosity lay on top of it as well now.

Siggy sighed. “I know Spike very well,” she commented, “better than any other, save perhaps Dawn. And even her knowledge is colored by her feelings towards him.”

“You said you loved him,” Buffy countered, a catch in her voice.

A small smile lit up Siggy’s face. “He has shown me a kindness and respect that few other men have,” she admitted. “He is perhaps the greatest friend I have ever had, and I truly believe that he values my friendship as well, but there can never be anything more between us.”

“And you’re telling me this, why?” Buffy asked curiously.

Siggy bit her lower lip and flipped her notebook closed on the stone bench beside her. “Spike cannot fall in love,” she said simply.

Buffy shook her head vehemently. “You’re wrong,” she insisted. “I believed that for so long, but—”

“You are not listening to me,” Siggy chided her gently. “I said that he _can_ not, not that he never could.”

“But what…?” Buffy was confused again now.

“The details of what transpired between the two of you are unknown to me,” Siggy explained. “I know only that he loved you and you hurt him badly.”

The agitation in Buffy’s chest turned from fear to guilt. “Yeah,” she agreed softly, “I did…”

“You were not the first,” Siggy pointed out. “You were merely the last in a long line. Given his past, I cannot say I blame him for what he has become.”

“You blame me?” Buffy countered.

“I blame no one,” Siggy corrected. “It is not your fault that he has known so little kindness in his life. When I first saw him, I knew him to be a broken man. I was surprised, then, to discover that he could still demonstrate affection for Dawn, his sister.” A pause. “ _Your_ sister.”

“He always had a soft spot for her,” Buffy said with a nostalgic sigh.

“It drew me in,” Siggy agreed. “He is not a man devoid of softer emotion, just one who buries it so deep that it can never see the light of day.”

“Well, he _is_ a vampire,” Buffy couldn’t help but quip.

Siggy giggled before shooting an annoyed look the Slayer’s way.

“Sorry,” Buffy winced, “but you were going on metaphorical on me.”

“It is quite all right,” Siggy assured her with a little smile. “I am used to it.” She cocked her head to one side, studying Buffy intently. “The two of you are quite alike,” she finally decided.

“Yeah, it was kind of his campaign to show me that for a while,” Buffy grimaced.

“You do not believe it?”

“I didn’t back then.”

“And that has changed?”

Buffy sighed. “What’s that old saying? ‘Absence makes the heart grow fonder.’”

Siggy nodded sympathetically. “And your heart has not grown less fond now that you are with him?” she inquired.

“New saying,” Buffy shot back, “ ‘Presence makes the heart grow fonder.’”

Siggy smiled at that. “It is quite a challenge,” she commented.

“What?”

“To win Spike’s heart.”

Buffy gave her a curious look. “I thought you said it couldn’t be done,” she pointed out.

“I said that he is no longer able to fall in love,” she corrected. “But for someone whom he has once already let in…” She shrugged. “Perhaps you are still fortunate enough to be there. I do not envy you your task, though.”

Buffy groaned at that as well. “It’s like…like he’s warm to me one minute and cold the next. And every time I think that maybe, yeah, he wants me…” She shook her head. “Trying to decipher what’s going on in his head could take a lifetime.”

“But at least it is never boring,” Siggy agreed. She frowned for a minute. “He is…afraid now, I think,” she began hesitantly.

“He was never afraid before,” Buffy pouted slightly.

“If you cannot understand how one can be burned so badly as to never wish to risk their heart again, then perhaps you two are not so alike after all,” Siggy commented.

Buffy bit her lip. _Angel…_ “I know,” she whispered softly.

“Then perhaps you can show him what made it worthwhile for you to love again,” Siggy suggested.

Images flashed before Buffy’s eyes of Spike in the final year that she’d known him – laying a comforting hand on her shoulder as they sat on the porch steps together, tending to her bleeding knuckles after she’d crawled from her grave, the soft jokes he’d used to make her smile on even the worst days, the passion that burned within him when they joined, the complete and absolute devotion to her even when she was at her worst…

“He does deserve better than the half-life he is living,” Siggy said.

Inwardly, Buffy couldn’t help but agree…

* * *

 _“You’ve an evil, disgusting thing!”_

 _“You’re beneath me.”_

 _“The only chance you ever had with me was when I was unconscious.”_

 _“You were just...convenient.”_

 _“There’s nothing good in you.”_

 _“I could_ never _be your girl!”_

 _“Soulless...”_

 _“Disgusting...”_

 _“Monster!”_

Buffy snapped awake with a gasp, body shaking slightly from the memories that had bombarded her in her sleep. Almost fearfully, she reached out beside her on the bed and was relieved to find herself alone. The nightmare images had been just that – a nightmare. Wherever Spike was, he wasn’t bleeding and broken, shattered to pieces at the force of her blows, her words, and…

With a disgusted shake of her head, Buffy got up. _That was years ago_ , she reminded herself. _Different life, different Buffy. There’s no danger now. Spike is…_

Just in the other room.

The thought was sobering. She was a different person now, living in a different world, and so was he. But the memories of the pain she had inflicted – those were real. Exaggerated through the nightmarish haze of her subconscious to be even more nauseating, true, but she had still inflicted so much pain…

With nothing else to distract her mind, Buffy quickly slipped into the jeans and pale blue sweater she’d been wearing earlier. The evening had been a bust – with only the group of demon hunters left in the inn, the Haunting hadn’t dared showed itself to the group at large. Buffy had been unable to catch Spike’s eye all evening, largely because he had been glaring pointedly at where Dawn and Rick had been sitting quietly beside the fireplace, discussing the case. Cheeks flushing from the pointed looks Siggy had been sending her way, Buffy had ultimately retired early despite the previous peaceful night in Spike’s arms.

Admittedly, it hadn’t been the best of moves, since now it was one in the morning and she was wide awake.

“A little extra patrol never hurt anything,” she sighed to herself, catching her hair up into a sloppy ponytail before venturing out into the corridors.

She passed by the open doors to the recreation room and could still hear the sounds of Xel and Lena’s argument; the demon pair hadn’t ventured from their places at the pool table since she’d gone to sleep. Dawn and Rick were also still awake, deeply intent in some discussion. Buffy was surprised that the dark shadow hanging over their shoulders – namely, Spike – had gone. Maybe Dawn had finally kicked him out.

She just gave her sister a small wave as she passed, however. She wasn’t particularly in the mood for company at the moment. As much as she hated to admit it, that dream had gotten to her, made her question whether everyone was really better off without her…

She turned down a blackened corridor, now entirely devoid of life that the hotel guests were gone. The window at the far end of the hall was frosted over with ice crystals, creating the eerie illusion that the entire building was buried in snow and they were all trapped.

Buffy felt an involuntary shiver run down her spine at the strange feelings of helplessness the thought invoked in her. Pulling the long sleeves of her sweater down so that her hands were buried within the soft silk of the fabric, she ventured ever onward and…

She froze dead in her tracks, every muscle coiled and ready.

The silence seemed to surround her for an instant, a thick black cloth draped over her and smothering her. And then, slowly, the sound trickled back in. Slow, scattered notes. Haunting harmonies and a melody that could only come from beyond the grave…

Instinctively, her feet carried her over to the open door of the sitting room. She hadn’t been aware of it until this moment, but this was what she had been searching for. The same feeling of peace – of _rightness_ – settled over her as the piano’s tones wound their way deep inside her mind, and she felt almost hypnotized, mesmerized by the siren sound…

She stilled as she reached the door. It was only slightly ajar, as usual, and aside from her first encounter with the phantom pianist, she hadn’t dared to enter the room lest it stop its beautiful music. Tonight, though… Tonight something felt different, as though something deep within her had changed, the previous night’s experiences giving her the motivation she needed to slowly open the door…

It didn’t creak this time, and the soft music continued, circling round to the beginning of the verse once more.

Buffy drew in a deep breath at the sight of the ghostly specter before her. A phosphorescent, disembodied hand slid gracefully over the keys, its movements as agile as a spider’s legs. The back of her apparition’s head gleamed a pale white-blue in the bands of moonlight that cut through the gloom of the inn, let in through the skylights overhead.

Buffy paused for an instant but then finally dared to continue. This had gone on long enough, and she was finally prepared, finally ready…

She took one step into the room and made her away around the bookcase that obscured the rest of the phantom from her view, her footsteps as silent as a prowling cat’s. Her eyes widened in sudden realization as she got her first direct view of her specter, and she made the last few steps over to the piano bench with renewed confidence.

The song she had so come to love over the past weeks didn’t abate in the slightest as she reached out with one shaky hand toward its composer. The feel of familiar, worn leather warmed her soul, even as the music came to a startled halt, fingers slipping onto atonal keys.

“You know,” she began, a small smile curving the corners of her lips, “we’re going to have to find _some_ way of getting you a tan, ‘cause honestly? I thought you were dead. Which, technically, you are, I suppose.”

“Ha bloody ha,” Spike retorted with a roll of his eyes. “And haven’t you ever heard of knockin’, Summers?”


	20. Warm Heart

“I feel like a fish in a barrel.”

This optimistic remark came from Rick right after Dawn had finally had enough of Spike’s hovering and looming and had not-so-subtly ordered him to go take a long walk off a short pier.

“We’re going to get more and more isolated up here if the weather keeps up like this,” Dawn agreed, staring at the chess board between them. Her bishop had checkmated his king over an hour ago, but they had never bothered to clear off the board. A conversation had easily sprung up, and there was no longer any need for the side distraction.

Rick nodded glumly, sunglasses firmly in place once more. “You do not suppose our Haunting can take control of the weather?” he suggested.

“Even if it could, it couldn’t possibly make it snow more,” Dawn teased lightly.

A small smile quirked at the edges of Rick’s lips. It was the only outward indication of his humor. Dawn was actually surprised to find that she had found him easier to read with the glasses off. Even though his eyes had been shocking in their uniformity and color, she’d learned remarkably quickly to decipher subtle emotional nuances in their movements.

“And we are back to the fish in a barrel,” Rick concluded.

Dawn snorted. “Worse comes to worst, I’m sure Siggy could drive through a glacier as if it were a sunny June afternoon. According to her, this is just a few flurries.”

Rick grinned. “I cannot believe she went into town at this late hour. The woman is clearly suicidal.”

“No, suicidal would’ve been taking _Spike’s_ car out in this weather,” she laughed.

Rick chuckled as well. “He is very overprotective of his car,” he commented.

Dawn rolled her eyes. “He’s overprotective of _everything_ …in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Rick conceded the point with a nod. “He cares for you as family, as you do for him. I envy that about you.”

Dawn’s expression turned wistful. “Father a demon, mother killed by demon haters, huh?” she pressed softly.

“Oh, they hated father as well,” Rick said with a distant sigh. His expression seemed to close off to her at the memory.

“I’m sorry,” Dawn bit her lip. “I didn’t mean to bring up…”

He shook it off as nothing. “It happened a long time ago,” he insisted.

Dawn nodded and looked down at her hands. “Sometimes, if you keep the past buried too long, it can overwhelm you,” she commented off-handedly.

“You speak from firsthand experience?” Rick inquired curiously. His focus shifted so that he could once again see the green magical ebb that danced across her flesh, animating her and composing her.

Dawn looked around and spotted her sister passing by in the hallway. A brief image flashed before her eyes of Buffy’s dead body lying at the bottom of Glory’s tower, but she shook it off and managed a smile and a wave. “Tell you what,” Dawn said, turning back to Rick. “I’ll spill my story, if you’ll tell me yours.”

A curious eyebrow quirked above the rim of his sunglasses. It took a second’s thought, but only a second’s. “It is a deal,” he agreed with a shy smile.

“You just went to sleep and _left_ me to freeze to death in that hellhole of a temple?!” Lena screamed in outrage at that very moment.

“Well, I didn’t _know_ you were down there, now did I?” Xel shot back angrily.

Dawn rolled her eyes.

Rick did as well, but the effect was lost beneath the dark shades. “It is a deal,” he repeated, “but can we continue this discussion somewhere else?”

“You read my mind,” Dawn agreed with a grin…

* * *

“You know,” Buffy began, a little giggle escaping her lips as all her misconceptions about the identity of her phantom player finally came to light, “I thought you were a ghost.”

“Slayer who can’t even tell the difference between a ghost an’ a vampire,” Spike snorted good-naturedly.

“It’s not my fault that you’re all pale with the hair and the black clothes that make you look all decapitated from behind,” she retorted with a playful flick of her hair over one shoulder.

A small smirk curled at the edges of his lips. “Oh, so I was a headless spook, was I? Mighty big words you’re usin’ there, pet.”

“Hey!” she protested on principle, a grin of her own lighting up her face. “I can use all sorts of big words! What do you think I am, monosyllabic?”

A chuckle at her joke. “Ooh, California girl’s showin’ off for the crowd,” he teased.

“My academic honor was being disputed,” she retorted, arms crossed over her chest in a defensive manner…which also happened to show off her chest in the low v-neck of her sweater quite nicely. “And maybe you should check out a dictionary Mr. Victorian Education. I said you were decapitated, not headless. In fact, what with your frightening paleness and fetish for black leather, you looked quite head _ful_.”

“Now, that ‘m confident isn’t a word,” he countered. Almost of their own devices, his eyes drifted down to the tanned cleavage that disappeared beneath the pale blue silk of her sweater. He had to bite back a moan at the memory of that soft, gold skin revealed fully to him that morning.

She rolled her eyes in the patented Buffy manner and sat back against the armchair beside the piano bench. She watched as his fingers absentmindedly flitted over the keys, just tapping the polished ivory lightly so that the cadence was completed only in his own inner ears.

“So, er, yeah…” he began, a bit embarrassed, ducking his head and scratching the back of his neck. “I was just…uh…”

“I’ve been listening to you practically every night since I got here,” Buffy pointed out with a small smile. “There’s no way you can cover.”

He sighed. “Oh bugger…”

“There’s no reason to be embarrassed,” she reassured him softly. “You play beautifully…” A wistful little flutter moved deep in her chest, still aching for the haunting touch of his musical caress.

“Big Bads don’t play beautifully,” he huffed slightly, arms crossed over his own chest now.

“That is so not true,” she countered. “What about the Phantom of the Opera?”

“Yeah, well ‘m more ‘sexy rebel’ Big Bad and less ‘tragic antihero’,” he insisted.

“Really?” she inquired with a grin. “’Cause I always thought you were kinda both.”

“You think ‘m sexy?” He blurted out the question hopefully before he even had a chance to think and gave himself a few good mental slaps for the unintentional slip.

Buffy bit her lip and looked intently down at her shoes. “C’mon, you know you’re totally hot,” she admitted with a blush.

The evil Big Bad smirk crept slowly across his features. “You know you want me, Slayer,” he teased in a seductive purr.

Buffy shivered at the sound of his voice, the half-whispered innuendo feeling like the cool caress of his fingers up and down her spine. “Yeah,” she said with a shrug. “It’s not like it’s a secret or anything.”

His eyes widened, and for one moment the impossible occurred – Spike was completely and utterly flummoxed. “I…er…uh…” he gulped in disbelief at her admission, Adam’s Apple bobbing enticingly as he did so. “Well, that is…see…”

She couldn’t help but giggle. He looked so adorable like that, all his bluster cast aside as the man within tried desperately to comprehend what she’d just actually admitted. “I decided to cut out the emotional lies a ways back,” she provided as he slowly reasserted control over himself. “It makes life a whole lot easier if you just admit how you feel, y’know?”

He nodded slowly. “Never thought ‘d hear you say those words,” he admitted, composed again now but sounding almost…shy?

“That’s because you had to deal with me in my ‘royally fucked up’ phase,” Buffy agreed with a roll of her eyes. “Sorry about that.”

“Um…yeah,” he said hesitantly, still only half believing this conversation was occurring. “’S all right. Just, y’know, caught me by surprise is all.”

“More like ‘floundering and gasping for air’,” she teased lightly.

He chuckled. “Don’t need air,” he pointed out.

Her expression softened as she looked at him.

“What?” he demanded, squirming slightly at her intent focus.

“It’s just…” she began, in awe at her sudden revelation, “you get these little crinkles around the edges of your eyes when you smile, and you’ve got these dimples, and…” She trailed off, blushing slightly. “I guess I’ve just never watched you smile before,” she finally whispered.

Macho manliness apparently in serious jeopardy, Spike moved to get up. “Got a nice smile yourself, luv,” he felt obliged to reply.

Buffy rose with him, and her hand came to rest on one powerful arm, her fingers curling gently around his biceps. “Stay,” she requested softly.

He snorted. “Yeah, so you want me,” he retorted, pulling away. “Big deal. Half the birds I meet do. Must be my fit bod; they just can’t resist.”

“That’s not—” Buffy began in protest. _Uh-oh, looks like I struck a nerve…_ Inwardly, she winced.

“Well, you’re in luck, then,” he persisted, cutting her off. “’Cause ‘m easy. Go on and ask anyone.” He caught her own arm at that and pulled her up roughly against his body, so that only inches separated their lips.

“Spike—” she pleaded hoarsely.

“Even the Bit’ll tell ya,” he insisted, leaning his head in.

“William…”

He froze at the sound of his real name, and it was all the reprieve Buffy needed to slip one hand between them, resting the tip of her index finger against his luscious lower lip and holding him at a distance.

“I don’t want you to be easy,” she insisted raggedly, tears brimming in her eyes at all the pain he must’ve gone through to now think that this was all there was – just lust without tenderness, without love… “I want you to be real. I want you to be Spike. I want you to be mine…” The last confession was said in a breathless whisper, and she looked directly into his stormy blue eyes all the while so that he could see the truth within her.

His eyelids fluttered shut for a second, and his demeanor softened. “Sorry about that, pet,” he whispered, embarrassed at his own behavior now. “I just—”

“It’s okay,” she assured him softly. “I get it. Really I do.” Her finger slowly ventured from his lips to trace the razor’s edge of one cheekbone. A little purr escaped his throat at the affectionate touch, and she smiled now that she had the real Spike back. “Stay with me?” she requested again, careful this time.

“Yeah, right,” he agreed with a wistful little sigh. “Whattaya wanna…?” He let the question trail off.

“Will you play for me?” she inquired hopefully, gesturing to the piano.

“Uh, yeah. Sure thing, pet,” he agreed, sounding slightly surprised. “You really like…?”

“I love it,” she assured him, reluctantly pulling away so that he could return to the piano bench. She took the seat beside him without hesitation and watched as his fingers once more found their places on the ivory keys.

“I composed it myself,” he admitted somewhat sheepishly.

“I can tell,” she agreed with a soft smile before letting herself drift off into the sensual notes once more…

* * *

“You can destroy the universe?” Rick sat back on the sofa in Dawn and Spike’s common room and blinked.

“And I nearly did,” Dawn shivered slightly.

Noticing her chill, he reached over onto the armchair and tossed her the throw blanket there. She gave him a grateful smile in response and wrapped it around herself.

“It’s always been easiest just to forget about it,” she confessed. “I’m entirely human otherwise, and…” She trailed off. “Except that you can see it, can’t you?” she pointed out somewhat bitterly.

“Only when I look a certain way,” Rick assured her.

“Come again?”

“It is like…a different focus of a camera,” he tried to explain. “I look in a certain way, and I can see magical energies and the like.”

“Are you doing it right now?” Dawn asked curiously.

“I can if you want me to,” he provided, shifting his vision so that the green aura that surrounded her like a halo burned bright before him.

Dawn scowled. “I couldn’t see what you did. Take off the glasses.”

“There’s nothing to see,” he insisted hastily, the flushing of his cheeks visible even over his chocolate brown complexion.

“There’re your eyes for one,” Dawn pointed. “Now that I know…” She reached up hesitantly for the frame of his lenses. “There’s no need to hide anymore.”

“They are a demon’s eyes,” he let out one last token protest as she removed his sunglasses.

“Yeah, well, I’m used to Spike vamping out all the time, so I’m kinda, sorta used to it…” She trailed off with smile at the sight of his red eyes once more. “I think they’re fascinating,” she admitted softly.

“That would make you the only one to think so,” Rick commented a bit gruffly. He didn’t pull away from the hand at his cheek, however.

“What about your father?” Dawn inquired softly.

A deep sigh escaped Rick’s lips. “My father…was not a typical Kayeri,” he finally conceded.

“ ‘Was not’? He’s dead?”

“He is,” Rick agreed. “They could not allow the abomination that was a demon who loved a human to live.”

“They?”

“The Cuiva village my mother was born into,” Rick clarified. “When they found out that she was…” A shake of his head. “They drove her out, would have killed her had my father not come to her defense.”

“At least your parents loved each other,” Dawn commented, remembering the shouting matches between Hank and Joyce with just a tinge of the old pain from her childhood.

“As I said,” Rick agreed with a small smile, “my father was not a typical Kayeri. He was a virtual outcast because of his association with my mother.”

“Ah, the fun of trying to live between human and demon societies,” Dawn added with a sympathetic smile.

Rick smiled up at her at that. A real, full-out, open smile. The first from him she’d ever seen.

And Dawn was certain that her heart had just melted…

* * *

“Can you teach me?” Buffy’s question interrupted the comfortable silence that had settled between them as they both drifted off into the music.

Spike shot her a skeptical look. “You know how to play?”

A pointed roll of her eyes. “Four years of the hell my mom liked to call piano lessons,” she countered.

“A smart woman, your mum,” Spike retorted with a little grin.

“Yeah…” A nostalgic sigh. “Anyway, I completely suck, but I still wanna learn. Maybe I could manage just the melody.”

“No harm in tryin’ now, is there, luv?” he agreed with a quirk of his lips. “Unless those lessons stopped ‘cause you finally slayed the teacher, that is…”

“This was pre-Slayer, believe me,” Buffy assured him. “Otherwise, there would’ve been no way my mom could’ve forced me into them.”

“Bet you’re glad you had ‘em now,” he countered.

An amused smile curved the edges of her lips. “Knew you were gonna say that,” she teased.

“Well, it was too obvious to pass up,” he insisted defensively.

“All right, I’ll give you that _one_ ,” she conceded, “but only because I want you to teach me.”

“Fair enough,” he agreed with a shrug, pulling a notepad from his duster pocket. “You read music?”

“Really slowly,” she admitted.

“We’ll start off on the keyboard first, then,” he decided. “Start on the D…you _can_ find D, right?”

She rolled her eyes at him. “I’m not _that_ bad,” she insisted, the index finger of her right hand pressing the D in front of her firmly.

He breathed an inward sigh of relief. Maybe she actually _did_ know what she was about, after all. “Right, then. Follow my lead.” He took up parallel position an octave below and slowly ran through the melody.

Buffy giggled and stumbled over the keys and shot him apologetic looks each time he had to go back and get her back on the right notes. She really never had been very good, but then she’d never found the piano at all fun before, either.

Spike chuckled as she missed another raised seventh, and he slowed his pace down so that she could catch on again. She managed to keep up with him for six measures before her fingers wandered off on their own again, and she scowled down at the keyboard as if it were intentionally trying to vex her.

The expression was so completely adorable – Slayer wrath and pouty little girl all rolled together in one – that Spike couldn’t keep himself from laughing aloud.

Buffy shot him a mock-offended look. “Some teacher you are,” she grumbled, “making fun of your students…” Inwardly, her heart was racing, though. He looked so happy, carefree, _beautiful_. And she was the cause of his good humor. She had always wondered just how much they could laugh together if she’d allowed the hostility between them to fully abate…

“Think we’d better write it down for you, after all,” Spike decided, still chuckling under his breath. He flipped open the notebook and tore out a blank page, drawing a series of surprisingly neat lines before he began penning in the notes over them.

Fortunately, he was left-handed, so Buffy could lean in close on his right side and watch him work. “You wrote _all_ of this?” She shook her head.

“What? Don’t think ‘m clever enough to come up with a tune?” he retorted.

“No, it’s not that,” she shook her head. “It’s just… I can’t believe that _anyone_ can write music like that.”

“Where d’you think it all comes from, then?” he inquired.

She shrugged. “Never thought about it, actually.”

He shook his head. “Ah, the wonders of modern education…” he mourned.

“You learned this in _school_?” she asked incredulously.

“Well, yeah. Where else?”

“They _teach_ this in school?” She blinked again.

“Yeah…well, they did back when I went,” he conceded. “That was a long time ago. Everyone had to know this sorta thing to be educated.”

A distant expression crossed Buffy’s face. “You’re really old, y’know,” she finally commented.

“’m only a hundred thirty!” he protested.

Buffy laughed. “That’s old,” she assured him. “But not, like, creepy geezer old. Just, ‘wow, there’s so much I don’t know about you’ old.”

He shrugged and turned back to coloring in the dotted notes of music before him. “No one does,” he said simply.

She bit her lower lip and placed a hesitant hand on his shoulder. He turned to look at her in surprise, bringing their faces into oh-so-tempting proximity once more. Buffy let her eyelids flutter shut and savored the feel of his cold breath against her cheek. This closeness… God, how she had ached for it! All those years of being alone, and then these last few tortuous weeks when he had been so close but still untouchable…

“I want to know, though,” she whispered. “I want to know it all…” Hesitantly, she leaned in and oh-so-carefully brushed a gentle kiss right at the corner of his lips…

* * *

With a breath of warm relief, Siggy shut the lobby door to the lodge behind her and shook the crystallized snow from the hood of her parka. Removing the coat entirely when she realized her task was hopeless, she brushed off all the excess snow in the entrance hall. Task accomplished, she tucked her jacket under one arm and the newspaper she’d bought at the local 7/11 under the other and returned to the suite she was now mooching off of Spike and Dawn.

Whistling a jaunty tune under her breath and trying to compete with where Spike seemed to be slaughtering the keyboard in sitting room, she fumbled in her pocket for her keys. Swearing in a soft foreign tongue when she realized that they were in one of the parka pockets that were now concealed from her, she stopped in the middle of the hallway and dropped everything on the floor so that she could sort it all out.

“Need some help with that, little lady?”

The husky voice cut through the blackness of the corridor like a knife, and Siggy leapt a foot in surprise at the sound. She spun around startled, only to breathe a sigh of relief when she saw the identity of the speaker.

“Mr. Tucker,” she gasped, one hand over her bosom in a gesture that she knew looked cliched but nevertheless was instinctive, “you startled me.”

“Didn’t mean to,” he assured her, taking a step in closer. “Wanna hand?”

“No, thank you.” She turned back to her coat and found the keys within. She held them up for him to see and picked up her parka and newspaper once more. “It is under control now.”

“Shouldn’t be surprised that you don’t want my help, I suppose,” Tucker commented off-handedly, stepping closer.

Siggy frowned at the unexpected menace in his motions and turned back down the hallway in the direction of the safety of Spike and Dawn’s suite. “You are not?” she asked, confused.

“A pretty thing like you,” he went on as if he hadn’t even heard her comment. “All you bitches ever do is ignore me. Ol’ Tucker’s not good enough for you, huh?”

“Wh-What are you talking about?” Siggy asked, alarmed now. He was following her slowly down the hallway, a predatory menace in his step, and the words coming out of his mouth spoke of an irrationality that she hadn’t sensed in him when they’d met briefly earlier. “I never said any such thing.”

“But you thought it, though,” he accused. “I know that you thought it.”

Siggy scrambled with the keys in her hand, fumbling for the door. “I did not—” she dared to look up.

And, at that moment, he stepped into the narrow beam of moonlight that encompassed her, and she saw for the first time the malevolent red glow deep in his eyes. He roughly grabbed at her wrist, and she screamed…

* * *

She wasn’t quite sure how it had happened, how they had finally bridged the gap between them and how their lips had finally met. But, oh, right now she didn’t care. With a gasp, she pulled him in closer, feeling the strong, lean musculature of his body pressed hard against her yielding flesh.

A heady moan escaped her lips as he pulled her into his lap, letting her feel his rock-hard desire for her. God, she had dreamed of this and now to finally have him… She ground back against him, hands groping at black leather and pushing it back down off of his body. She needed more, always more. She needed to feel his skin against hers, his weight on top of her, his…

“God!” she cried aloud as his blunt teeth nibbled hungrily at the salty sweat of her throat.

“Taste so good…” he mumbled inarticulately into her hair, overcome with the ecstasy of finally having her in his arms.

“Want you now,” she agreed, pulling his lips down to hers in response.

He rose to his feet at that, her legs still wrapped tight around his waist. Cloth parted from heated flesh, fluttering down to the floor almost of its own devices. Half naked now, they crashed against the wall, grinding their desires together erotically.

“Bedroom?” he suggested hoarsely.

“Now.” Her own voice was low and husky with desire.

Together they staggered, fought, and disrobed their way to her room, fumbling for doorknobs, stopping every foot to share another passionate kiss.

A sigh of relief escaped both their lips as they tumbled back onto the mattress. Soft, tentative caresses now accompanied their kisses as he moved slowly on top of her, accepting the glimpse of heaven she was offering him…

“Rick!” Dawn cried as he entered her, drowning out Siggy’s scream for help in the hallway…

* * *

Buffy pulled away slowly, licking her lips and savoring her brief taste of his skin. She noticed with a small smile that Spike’s eyelashes were still fluttered shut from when she’d kissed him. One of her thumbs traced the strong line of his jaw as she moved to back away from him…

And he let out a little gasp of protest, leaning back into her touch and pressing his own lips oh-so-softly down on top of hers.

Buffy’s eyes widened for a second before her body melded into his, accepting the power of his embrace and the sweet passion of his kiss.

Their lips lingered for a while, keeping their kisses shallow and short. Heady breaths escaped both their lips as the passion was stoked between them, burning ever brighter as Spike opened himself up to her, each slanting of their lips reminding him more and more of why he’d once laid his heart bare for her…

With a gasp, he finally pulled back, not able to make that final step, not so soon.

Buffy let out a little whimper of protest but didn’t fight to resume their passion.

“I…” he began hesitantly, almost apologetically.

“It’s all right,” she soothed him softly. “I can wait.”

“I…We should…”

“Probably call it a night,” Buffy agreed reluctantly, finishing his sentence for him.

“Yeah.” His cheeks pinkened slightly as they sat back to look at each other. “But ‘ll, y’know, write out the rest of the score for you and…” He gestured to the half-written music on the piano.

“Oh yeah, thanks,” she blushed as well. “We can…tomorrow maybe…?”

“Um, sure, I just…”

“Yeah…” _Why isn’t there ever an emergency to break up awkward pauses like this?_ Buffy sighed inwardly.

And a scream shattered the midnight silence of the lodge.

 _Yes, that’ll do nicely_ , Buffy decided as she and Spike bolted to Siggy’s aid…


	21. Blood Red

Siggy screamed and yanked back hard away from Tucker’s grasp. The fingers around her wrist were like steel, though, and she only succeeded in wrenching her own arm painfully. She bit out a gasp and aimed the heel of her boot at his kneecap. Hard.

He crumpled in response, and she took the fortunate opportunity given her to pull free and run. A howl of rage followed her desperate flight around the corner, and before she knew what was happening, she was tackled hard from behind. She hit the ground with an “oof!”, and the weight of the man on her back knocked the air from her lungs with bruising intensity.

“Thought you could get away from me that easily, bitch?” Tucker’s voice sounded cold and inhuman in her ear. “Think you’re smarter than me, _better_ than me?” The blade of a hunting knife gleamed in the soft moonlight, and he pressed the tip right at the back of her neck, ready to sever her life if she struggled further.

Siggy froze, wide-eyed with fear for the first time in her life. There was absolutely nothing she could do to stop him without condemning herself. A horrifying feeling of helplessness swept over her just and his lips leaned over to whisper right into her ear once more.

“You’re _mine_ , bitch…”

And, at that moment, Buffy and Spike rounded the corner, saw Tucker holding Siggy violently down, and all hell broke loose.

Before Buffy even had time to register what was happening, Spike leapt forward with a roar, features shifting to cruel demonic planes in the moonlight, and with clawed fingers he ripped Tucker’s body off of Siggy’s.

Tucker crashed back against the wall, shattering the small end table he’d landed against, and slumped to the ground half-dazed. When he looked up, his eyes were clear of the haze of the Haunting once more, but the knife remained firmly grasped in his hand.

It was all over in an instant. Spike leapt at him faster than the eye could see, and just as Buffy lunged forward in protest, she heard the sickening snap of bones breaking. Tucker fell to a lifeless heap on the dark blue carpeting, and Spike was instantly back at Siggy’s side, cradling her sobbing body against him.

Buffy watched dumbstruck, the horrible facts presenting themselves to her one by one. Tucker was dead. Spike had killed him. Tucker was human. Spike’s chip hadn’t fired. Spike’s chip hadn’t worked. She, the Vampire Slayer, had just watched a Vampire kill an innocent human.

Out of years of habit, she caught hold of the stake in her pocket and pulled it out, her knuckles white on the polished wood. It was her job – her _duty_ – to slay Spike now, and she could feel her heart breaking in her chest.

He was still huddled over Siggy, unaware of the moral quagmire the Slayer was trying desperately to swim her way out of. His face was still that of a demon, nuzzling her neck softly, one fang carefully knicking the place where he’d marked her as family and drawing one drop of blood from her skin as a reaffirmation of his vows.

“Never let anyone ‘urt you,” he whispered raggedly, holding her sobbing body as tightly as he could without hurting her. “Always here for you, pet, always.”

Siggy clung to him, burying her head against the comforting coolness of his chest, her fingers fisting in the thick leather of his jacket. Waves of relief continued to sweep over her that he had been there, that it was all over now, that she was safe…

“Shh, that’s it, luv…” he cooed to her softly, one clawed hand stroking her hair affectionately before he looked up for the first time and saw the weapon in Buffy’s hand. Instantly, he froze at the sight, confusion in his golden eyes.

“H-He’s dead,” Buffy felt the sudden need to defend herself. “You killed him.” She looked at the vampire in full game face clutching a mortal woman to him and tried to find it alarming or dangerous, but deep inside her she knew that it wasn’t. Spike may have been able to kill, but even with his fangs mere inches from a human throat, Siggy was in no danger.

Spike’s eyes hardened in realization. “Yeah, I killed ‘im,” he agreed in a low growl. “Would do it again in a second, too.”

“I-It was the H-Haunting.” Buffy tried to keep the stutter from her voice, but it was impossible what with her world falling out from under her. Never in a million years had she dared consider that she’d find Spike again only to have to stake him. “It wasn’t his fault…” This last statement was pleading, as if begging him to understand that what he had done was wrong, begging him to be something he wasn’t, to miraculously have a soul after all…

“He hurt one ‘f my girls,” Spike insisted vehemently, his words reassuring Siggy while confronting Buffy. “ _No one_ hurts my girls an’ lives.”

Buffy felt her heart shatter at his words. With a visibly shaking hand, she raised her stake and…

“No, please.”

The hoarse whisper froze Buffy in her tracks, and she noticed that Siggy had turned to face her for the first time, eyes still stained with tears and one hand curled protectively over Spike’s heart.

“He saved my life,” she pleaded.

Buffy watched Spike’s expression turn tender once more as he nuzzled Siggy’s hair comfortingly, and her world slipped out from her once again. But not because she had to kill Spike anymore. Because she could _choose_ not to kill Spike. She felt dizzy from the implications, unfamiliar notions flitting through her head that he had, in his own way, done the right thing, done good…

With a clatter, Buffy’s stake fell to the floor, and then she ran and ran and ran…

* * *

An over-dramatic sigh, and Veronica landed gracefully on the settee in the recreation room. “Are things as _deathly_ dull here tonight, as well?” she asked in a bored drawl, lighting up a cigarette and caressing the filter with her crimson red lips as she took a deep drag.

Xel and Lena’s continuous argument froze for a second at the unexpected arrival of the third party, and Xel hastily straightened his jacket before shooting a leer Veronica’s way.

She gave him a small smile in response and coolly blew out a smoke ring.

Lena scowled at the interplay. “I would’ve thought a slow night would be a good thing,” she pointed out primly. “Or do you _want_ to be attacked?”

Veronica rolled her eyes. “I didn’t say I wanted the Haunting to provide us with entertainment, little girl. I merely suggested we find _something_ to break the horrible monotony of being trapped out in the middle of _nowhere_ …”

Xel shot her a bright smile and pointedly sat on the settee right beside her. “You had something in mind, perhaps?” he suggested in his best seductive voice.

She gave him a coy smile in response. “Maybe.”

Lena bristled visibly, and her antennae shook with rage. “Well then, why don’t _you_ go off and do whatever it is you have planned by _yourself_ ,” she hissed in a jealous rage. “ _We’re_ ,” she grabbed Xel’s hand for emphasis, “turning in for the night.”

“We’re…what?” Xel demanded, irritated now that she was ordering him around.

“We’re going to bed,” she informed him angrily.

“No, I’m not!”

“Yes, you _are_!” She shoved him pointedly in the direction of the door.

“Ow, woman!” he exclaimed, now being dragged along by one antennae behind her. “Didn’t you ever learn any manners? Haven’t you ever—?”

The door slammed shut behind the departing couple, leaving Veronica alone in the recreation room.

She let out a weary sigh. “Well, this place is a bust,” she decided before getting up with a sudden decision. “I wonder where that gorgeous vampire’s gotten off to…”

* * *

It had been a simple matter for Spike to wrap his duster around Siggy, lift her up into his arms, and carry her back to his room. Shivers had overtaken her just as they’d entered the common room, and Spike had rushed her to his bed without even bothering to find Dawn first. Siggy had calmed some when she’d been buried under the covers and warm once more, and he’d soothingly stroked her hair to calm her down.

After ten or so minutes, she finally managed to look up at him and smile. “You must think me such a…how you say?…wimp?” she ventured.

“Not at all, luv,” he assured her, sitting on the edge of the bed and smiling softly now that the shivers had left her body. Somewhere between the hallway and his room, his features had morphed back into human form. “Think you’re right brave for survivin’ that nutcase. Had the common sense to cry out for help an’ everythin’.”

“I was lucky you were nearby,” Siggy agreed with a shudder. “The recreation room is so far off… I doubt the others even heard.”

“Yeah, well, vamp hearing, y’know,” he assured her, well aware that she was troubled by this near miss. “Would’ve heard you anyway.”

She accepted that at face value and gave him an appreciative smile. “Thank you,” she said softly.

He looked embarrassed at that. “No need, luv. Not like ‘m a hero or anythin’. Just can’t let anyone touch my family, y’know?”

Siggy smiled and inwardly rolled her eyes. “If you say so,” she let him live with his delusions.

“Should prob’ly see to gettin’ rid of that wanker I left back in hallway,” he commented, half to himself. “Be a nasty trip to anyone who comes across ‘im…”

“Spike.” She caught his wrist before he could flee. “I do not wish to be alone,” she pleaded softly. “At least until I fall asleep?”

With a resigned sigh, he dragged the armchair in the corner over to the bed and plopped himself down. “Bloody women orderin’ me around all the time like ‘m some kinda pansy…” he grumbled under his breath good-naturedly. He couldn’t really begrudge her this request, though. How often had he been desperate for Dawn’s comfort and reassurance at night? It suddenly struck him as odd that he hadn’t had one of his little breakdowns since their first arrival at the inn…

Siggy lay on her side facing him for quite some time, puzzling out the mysteries of the universe in his expressive features. When she finally spoke, it was barely a whisper. “I do not regret that you killed him.”

Spike started at that, having half drifted off himself. “What’s that, pet?”

“That Tucker,” she explained. “The man who attacked me. I am glad that he is gone.”

“Did it for you, luv,” he assured her.

“I know,” she agreed with a wistful smile. “You are a good man, I think,” she commented before closing her eyes.

Spike opened his mouth to protest, but she already seemed to be falling asleep and he didn’t want to wake her. With a sigh, he shut his own eyes and tried not to remember the look of horror on Buffy’s face back in the hallway.

 _Should’ve known better_ , he chided himself. _Should’ve known the only reason she was interested in me was because she thought I was some kind of neutered pet. Learned that lesson the hard way last time, didn’t I? Well, it’s not happening again. I’m not letting her fool me again…_

And, surprisingly, despite his mental agitation, he fell asleep as well, spread out awkwardly over the usually uncomfortable armchair…

* * *

Veronica knocked pointedly on the door to Dawn and Spike’s suite and once again got no answer. A scowl crossed her features as she tried to imagine where he could possibly be at this hour of the morning. She sent a pointed glare in the direction of the door to Buffy’s room.

“Bitch-slut,” she muttered under her breath before reluctantly stalking back to her room.

She turned the corner and…

“Aiee!” she screeched in terrified surprise at the sight before her. She quickly ran over to the body and felt for a pulse. “Fuck.” Tucker was dead. With a weary sigh, she went to go wake up Ms. Danvers and have the police stop by to pick up yet _another_ corpse…

* * *

Buffy had had a _horrible_ time trying to get to sleep that night. Half of her wanted to dash out of her room and go find Spike so that she could stake him, and the other half of her wanted to dash out of her room and go find Spike so that she could kiss him and tell him that it was all right. It wasn’t often that her Buffy side and Slayer side seemed to give her multiple personality disorder, but this was one of those very confusing times.

As a result, she’d locked herself in her room and refused to go out lest she do something she would regret later. But that hadn’t kept her from tossing and turning all night, trying to decipher the man who’d given her the sweetest, most tender kiss she’d ever known one minute and had snapped a man’s neck the next. The sounds of soft conversation through the wall to Spike’s room didn’t help anything, especially since that odd jealousy was back at the closeness between Spike and Siggy.

And, when she finally did drift off to sleep, she dreamed…

 _“Christ, Buffy!” Spike exclaimed in ecstasy, hands rattling the chains that bound him to the bed as he thrust up deep inside her._

 _She let out a moan of her own, throwing her head back and riding him as hard and fast as she could. Her fingers raked deep into the bare chest beneath her, drawing blood and pain that just drove her on faster. Her eyes remained riveted on the dirt ceiling above, mind intentionally blocking out the knowledge that she was in a crypt, fucking a dead man._

 _It was easier when she looked away from him like this. She could make him whatever she wanted – just a long, thick cock and a hard body meant solely to pleasure her, to be used and discarded by her…_

 _Her climax shook her to her very core as he struck the sweet spot within her over and over again. A cry of raw pleasure and then she collapsed on top of him, her hips still gyrating against his swollen erection erotically._

 _“God, Buffy, I love you,” his ragged voice whimpered against her sweat-soaked hair. “I love you so much. L-Let me go, pet. I need to touch you, make you feel so good…” It was as much of a plea as he would ever give her._

 _Buffy froze at his words, and her hand shot out in response, catching rough hold of his neck and squeezing. He gasped in pain, but as he didn’t need oxygen, the effect of choking to death was lost. She could compress his trachea, however, prevent him from talking, from saying such sweet things to her…_

 _“You’re nothing to me,” she bit out cruelly, rising up off of him. “You know that, right, Spike? You’re worthless. A filthy, soulless monster. You could never love.”_

 _She looked down at him with disdain, disgusted by the naked longing and devotion in his eyes. God, how could he still love her after all this? Didn’t he get that he was just her cheap whore? That she was using him for a little fun?_

 _“You’re pathetic,” she practically spat out, the nails of her free hand slicing his beautifully sculptured cheekbones. Trails of red flowed down the wounds, and at all that moment all she wanted was to mar his beauty in every way, to punish him from being fool enough to love a monster like her…_

 _He caught the danger in her eyes and struggled helplessly against his bonds, but the chains held fast._ Ha, that’ll teach him to trust me _, the nasty thought flitted through Buffy’s mind._

 _With agonizing slowness, her hand trailed down his smooth, bare chest until her palm lay over his unbeating heart. “Do I have your heart?” she whispered with a wicked smile. “Do you give it to me?”_

 _He nodded numbly, throat still too constricted to speak._

 _“Then you won’t need it anymore,” she hissed before her hand dug down into his flesh, and he cried out in pain, and…_

 _Suddenly, it felt as though she had whirled into the Buffy body she’d been watching all along. She froze in horror at the blood on her hands from where her evil doppelganger had just tried to rip out his heart. Tears filled her eyes as she stared down at the body of the man she loved, lifeless and still beneath her._

 _“S-Spike?” she whimpered softly, fingers that had been ripping him apart only second ago now caressing him gently, pleading for him to be all right._

 _He didn’t stir, and certain knowledge filled her mind that in this hell his body wouldn’t crumble to dust even though he was dead, just to torture her with the remains of what she’d done._

 _“Please, Spike,” she sobbed softly, pressing dozens of soft kisses across his face, his lips._

 _Her hands found the chains that had bound him and snapped them with one flick of her wrists. Still, he remained limp and lifeless beneath her._

 _“Don’t leave me,” she pleaded. “It’s me now, Spike. It’s really me. I’ll never hurt you, baby, never… God, I love you so much. Do you hear me, Spike?” She was growing hysterical now as it began to sink in that he was truly gone. “I love you, I love you, I love you…”_

 _She fell atop his body, clinging desperately to the empty corpse._

 _“Love you, love you…”_

 _Love you…_  
   
 

“No!” With a horrified scream, Buffy bolted upright in bed, sheets drenched with sweat. “No, no, no…” she pleaded with the darkness. “It didn’t happen like that! It didn’t! I…”

Fresh sobs shook her body at the memory. She’d just fled, that was all. Freaked out completely at his admission and had run as fast as she could, leaving him there bound and helpless, unable to stop her. That, in itself, was horrible enough to her now.

“No, not Spike…” The feel of his dead, unanimated body beneath still felt so real, so horrifying. “Please, god, no…”

She sniffled and looked up and for the first time noticed the red light surrounding her, dancing off the walls in merriment at her pain.

“Y-You _bastard_!” she screamed at the Haunting in infuriated outrage. “How could you—?” She trailed off and wiped the tears from her eyes as a grim determination took over her. “Do you worst,” she informed it with cool malice. “You’ll never turn me against him again. _Never_. I love him more than anything, you…ugly stage lighting effect!”

The red light bounced away from her at that, as if stunned by her violent opposition to its emotional manipulations. It turned a sickly green around the edges for a second before vanishing in a swirl of light.

And, alone at last, Buffy finally let herself cry her eyes out. Needless to say, she didn’t sleep again that night…

* * *

Just as the sun peeked over the horizon, Rick let out a languid sigh and clutched the woman beside him even closer to his body. His drowsy mind registered only a feeling of unexpected contentment for a minute before he finally remembered where he was and who he was with. A smile crossed his lips when he finally opened his crimson eyes to see the brunette head tucked into the curve of his shoulder.

Dawn looked so beautiful when she slept, innocent and angelic, but the fiery determination that had first drawn him to her was still visible within that beauty, a part of it. Lazily, he turned his attention to her aura, basking in the soft green glow that circled them both when they lay close like this…

And then noticing the eerie red light that seemed to be leaking in through the cracks in room. He started in surprise and alarm, and Dawn moaned in her sleep at his motion, wrapping a possessive arm around his waist. He froze when he realized they were surrounded by the light now, but then a curious thing happened.

The light seemed to want to move in closer – undoubtedly, to possess them. But as Rick watched, the red glow bounced harmlessly off of the green glow that surrounded Dawn, turning a sickening olive color at every point of collision. After only a few seconds effort, the Haunting gave up and fled from the room once more.

Rick blinked.

“Mmm, ‘morning.”

The satisfied murmur against his chest turned his attention from the unusual phenomenon and back to the woman in his arms. “Good morning,” he agreed, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead.

Dawn smiled softly and tangled her limbs comfortably with his. “Guess this means last night was more than a good dream, huh?” she commented.

“Much more,” he assured her with a conviction that no one would have been able to deny.

Dawn gave him a radiant smile and pulled him in for a deep kiss, savoring the feel of his lips against hers, the sweet taste of his tongue… “God, I never do this,” she said with a sigh, breaking the contact of their lips and resting her forehead against his.

“What?” he asked curiously, one hand tracing the full swell of her breast beneath the sheet.

“Just…hop into bed like this,” she clarified. “I hope you don’t think it’s a habit of mine.”

“It has never happened to me before, either,” he assured her, breathing in the coconut scent of her hair and savoring it.

“But last night was…”

“Special,” he finished for her.

“Yeah,” she agreed with a shy smile that melted his heart.

“I have never felt like this about anyone else,” he informed her softly. “I have never dared let anyone get so…”

“Close,” Dawn agreed, dizzy from the tacit understanding that seemed to be passing between them.

“Close,” he concurred, leaning in to steal another passionate kiss from her lips.

Soft murmurs escaped both their throats as they mingled lazily in the sheets together. Only Dawn’s colossal yawn finally broke them apart. A short burst of laughter escaped the pair of them before they hazarded to sit up in bed.

“I’m thinking…breakfast?” Dawn suggested, stretching her aching – but, oh, so satisfied – muscles.

“Breakfast,” he agreed with a smile.

However, when they finally emerged from their room, fully dressed once more, the last thing they expected was to find World War III breaking out in their common room.

Dawn answered the desperate pounding on the door to admit a shaking Buffy who dashed into the room without even asking to be let in.

“Spike,” Buffy pleaded anxiously, “tell me he’s still all right!”

“Uh…” Dawn froze, confused and still half asleep.

Buffy dashed right past her and into Spike’s room, squealing a little sigh of relief when she saw him sleeping safe and sound – and rather uncomfortably – in the armchair. “Oh, thank god…”

Dawn and Rick had rushed in after her, her alarm catching on, and now stood even more bewildered in the doorway. “Uh, what happened last night?” Dawn ventured hesitantly, just as the sudden presence of the audience caused Spike to awake with a lion-sized yawn, fangs half-extending in the process.

He blinked, noticed everyone, and cried out “Bloody hell!” in surprise.

His cry in turn woke Siggy, who awoke with her own start, and the circus was truly ready to begin.

“What on earth—?!”

“I dreamed you were dead!”

“Did something happen…?”

“What’s everyone doing here?”

“What’s that smell?”

“It’s none of your business!”

“Oi! You slept with demon boy, there!”

Spike’s exclamation won out over all others, of course, and everyone turned to where Dawn and Rick – who, now that they thought about it _really_ shouldn’t have been there at that hour of the morning – stood guiltily in the doorway.

“You did?” Siggy sounded excited at the gossip.

Spike’s nostrils were flaring with rage. “Tell me you didn’t,” he demanded in a low growl, eyes narrowed.

Dawn set her shoulders squarely. “I’m not going to lie,” she said confidently. “Especially since it would be completely pointless, given that you can smell the truth.”

With a malicious intent in his step, Spike prowled towards the nervous young man in the doorway, eyes flashing a dangerous gold.

“And I absolutely forbid you to take this out on Rick!” Dawn shot out angrily. One index finger caught Spike squarely in the chest, and the vehemence behind it pushed him backwards. “I’m an adult, and I can make my own choices, and you have no right to bully him around out of some outdated notion that you’re defending my honor.”

Spike’s eyes softened back to blue, and he opened his mouth to protest. “I wasn’t—”

“We _all_ know you were,” Dawn cut him off in full fury mode now. “Well, I’m sick of it. I don’t want to hear another word on the subject.”

“I just—”

“Not. Another. Word,” she breathed through clenched teeth.

He gulped and nodded, a wounded look in his eyes.

Dawn softened at that, and she pulled him in for a quick hug. “You know I love you,” she assured him, pushing his head down to rest on her shoulder, “and I know you’re just trying to look out for me, but I need you to just let this go.” She let him go with a soft smile and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. “Please?” she begged, with big, round, green eyes. “For me?”

A sigh and then another nod. “Manipulative bitch,” he grumbled good-naturedly. “Know I can’t resist the Bambi Eyes…”

Dawn flashed him a radiant smile and placed another soft kiss on his cheek. “Love ya,” she assured him before turning to the rest of the room. “Now, maybe can we discuss what’s going on at breakfast?”

A loud knock broke the still of the suite, and Rick rushed over to answer it. He started in surprise when Veronica practically collapsed into his arms.

“Horrible!” she gasped in disbelief.

“What?” Everyone crowded around her.

“The hotel staff has all fled!” she exclaimed melodramatically. “ _There’s no more room service!_ ”

Everyone just blinked.

“Oh, and Tucker’s dead, too,” she added, almost as an afterthought.


	22. Consequences

Dawn blinked in disbelief at Veronica’s very existence. “You didn’t think that, maybe, that last fact is just a _wee_ bit more important?” she couldn’t help but ask sarcastically.

Veronica blinked open one of the eyes that had fluttered closed after her horrific pronouncement. “No room service,” she stuck by her initial determination. “No restaurant. No maids. No laundry.”

Meanwhile, Buffy felt a pit developing in her stomach. After her nasty confrontation with the Haunting the night before, Spike’s killing last night had been brushed to the side. Now that awful churning was beginning anew, however, and she ventured a nervous look in the vampire’s direction. Nope, that didn’t help. She still didn’t have the slightest clue how to deal with this situation.

A frown had already creased Dawn’s forehead as she pondered this latest news. “The Haunting must’ve gotten to him last night,” she began.

“No,” Spike commented gruffly, falling back on the sofa with a slight huff, “ _I_ got to ‘im.”

Dawn blinked at him in surprise. “Clarify?” she demanded.

“Our old pal Tucker,” Spike began sarcastically, “decided Siggy was a free service of the establishment. I straightened him out.”

“By snapping his neck?!” Buffy blurted out, angry once more. How dare he? How dare he take a human life and force her into this horrible position?

“That was _you_?!” Veronica looked at Spike in surprise, carefully reconsidering her interest in him. It only took a second for her to decide it didn’t diminish his attractiveness in the slightest. After all, it wasn’t like he was the first killer she’d taking a lusting to…

Dawn’s face was closed off now, a careful mask of calculating distance. “Rick?” she turned to the half-Kayeri with a pleading look. “Why don’t you take Veronica down to the kitchen and see if the two of you can scrounge something up so that we don’t all starve?”

Rick nodded and gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, implicitly understanding that this was a matter she needed to handle without an audience. “If worse comes to worst, I can always cook,” he agreed before holding the door open for Veronica.

Dawn spared him a small smile as he went before turning back to her waiting audience of Spike, Buffy, and Siggy. “You were there?” she asked Buffy pointedly, somewhat puzzled that there hadn’t been a Slayer/Vampire fight to the death the previous night.

“Yeah,” Buffy agreed somewhat guiltily, “I was there.”

Dawn nodded solemnly and turned back to Spike, who had now taken up full defensive position on the couch. “What happened?” she demanded matter-of-factly.

“Mister Tucker attacked me without provocation,” Siggy stood up to Spike’s defense. “I screamed for help, and Spike came. I was pinned to the ground with a knife at my throat. Spike saved my life.”

“Yeah, _prior_ to killing Tucker,” Buffy felt obliged to point out.

“He had a knife,” Siggy insisted.

“He wasn’t possessed anymore!” Buffy shot back. “Plus, what’s a knife going to do to a vampire, anyway?”

Siggy’s eyes narrowed. “Would you be so quick to judge had it been your life?” she accused.

“Absolutely,” Buffy shot right back. “That’s irrelevant.”

“Oh, so Tucker’s life is important, but mine is irrelevant?” Siggy shot back.

“That’s not what I said!” Buffy shot back in exasperation. “What’s wrong with you? He _killed_ someone!”

“What’s wrong with _you_?” Siggy retorted. “It is part of his job – the very same job you do.”

“I don’t kill humans,” Buffy insisted.

“And you do not think that just as many innocents may have died because of that policy?”

“Guys, stop,” Dawn demanded sternly when she saw that Buffy was about to explode once more. “This isn’t getting us anywhere.”

Buffy’s jaw clicked shut, but she didn’t look swayed from her position in the slightest.

Siggy looked equally confident in her own opinion.

Spike was staring down at his nails, picking at the non-existent nail polish there. He’d, quite surprisingly, withdrawn from the argument the instant Buffy and Siggy had started to go at it. In all the years Dawn had known him, she’d never seen him let someone else fight his battles for him. It was certainly curious.

“Spike?” she pressed pointedly.

He sighed and looked up. “Yeah, I killed the tosser. Yeah, I prob’ly didn’t hafta. No, I wasn’t thinkin’ about that at the time. No, ‘m not sorry for doin’ it.”

Dawn shut her eyes and felt the beginnings of a headache coming on. “You remember what I told you the last time…” she began.

“Last time?!” Buffy was furious now. “You’ve let him kill before?”

“It _is_ his job,” Dawn repeated Siggy’s point from earlier before turning back to Spike. “We need to discuss this,” she decided. She caught Buffy’s look. “ _Alone_.” Her focus turned to Siggy. “Why don’t you work on translating that text? The written copy is in my room.”

Siggy nodded and vanished into Dawn’s room.

“Buffy,” Dawn instructed, “help her.”

“But I can’t read…” Buffy began in protest.

“You can provide detailed knowledge of the Haunting’s behavior and help theorize,” Dawn insisted. “Or, if you’re more comfortable helping Rick and Veronica in the kitchen, do that. But I need to talk with Spike alone.”

“I-I’m the Slayer,” Buffy pointed out.

“Yeah, but _I’m_ his boss,” Dawn countered, “and that makes it _my_ job to deal with this.”

Buffy bit her lip. She didn’t exactly want to handle this situation, but she wasn’t quite sure she could trust Dawn to be unbiased, either. Not that she herself was unbiased… With a reluctant nod, she followed Siggy back into Dawn’s room.

Dawn’s full attention turned to Spike now that they were alone. “Your room,” she ordered simply, opening the door and entering with the anxious vampire on her heels…

* * *

Buffy sat back and watched as Siggy continued to scribble intently on the notepad before her, consulting the foreign text composed of alternating patches of Spike’s neat penmanship and Dawn’s sprawling characters. The other woman hadn’t said a word to Buffy since she’d entered. Their little difference of opinion had obviously taken its toll on the former friendliness Siggy had shown her.

It made Buffy surprisingly uncomfortable. More than anything she wanted to talk to Spike, to plead some sort of latent goodness out of him, but that avenue was closed to her now. And she found the conflict with Siggy more troubling than she would have expected. The other woman was human, presumably with soul firmly in place. How the two of them could see this issue so completely _differently_ boggled her mind. And made her wonder for the first time which opinion was right. Which of their souls was a better determiner of right and wrong, really?

The silence, however, was stifling, leaving the questions to brew in her head unanswered. “Is there anything I can help with?” The question was a truce offering as well as a way to push aside her swirling thoughts.

Siggy looked up, sighed, and ventured a nod. Temporary truce accepted. “It is a difficult script,” she provided, gesturing for Buffy to sit beside her. “And not the least of it is trying to decipher Dawn’s handwriting.”

Buffy managed a small smile at that and looked at Siggy’s scribbled notes. “And _that’s_ English?” she teased lightly, gesturing to the disjointed phrases.

Siggy sighed. “It will obviously take quite a bit of polishing, but I think I have the basics. See this sign here?” She pointed to a grid of crossed wedge-shaped marks.

Buffy frowned and nodded at the unfamiliar script.

“The phonetic translation is Shur-Ashk-Um-Ur-Abi. I believe that is the name this text gives to our Haunting.”

Buffy scrunched up her nose. “I vote that we just stick with calling it ‘the Haunting’,” she decided.

Siggy smiled at that. “It is less…unwieldy,” she agreed. Another frown. “The name itself is untranslatable, I think. It appears to be a mixture of many different ancient languages. Perhaps a conglomeration of many? If so, our Haunting must have once been quite widespread throughout the Near East.”

“Does it say what it is?” Buffy pressed, looking in vain for meaning in the mysterious script of that bygone era.

“A demon of some sort.” Siggy puzzled over a particular phrase. “I believe it says… ‘Shur-Ashk-Um-Ur-Abi, the eater of despair.’”

Buffy frowned at the incomprehensible message. “Is that literal?” she inquired.

“I am taking it as such,” Siggy agreed. “This seems to indicate that our Haunting feeds upon despair in the human psyche.”

“Sounds like the bastard,” Buffy agreed.

“It can…modify?” Siggy frowned at the word. “Adjust? Alter? No…more like modify. Modify human emotions, draw its victims to their deaths, and…” She trailed off. “This will take a bit more work,” she concluded.

“Yeah, well at least it sounds like it’s confirming everything we know so far,” Buffy said, sounding encouraged. “We got a way to kill it?”

Siggy frowned. “Some of the later verbs would indicate that, but the grammar is complex. It will take more study,” she concluded.

“Well, at least we’ve got someone to study,” Buffy decided.

Siggy nodded and frowned. “If our Haunting is indeed this Shur-Ashk-Um-Ur-Abi, I cannot help but wonder how it arrived here, of all places.”

“Supernatural things hate me,” Buffy concluded. “All the really nasty ones follow me around just waiting for their chance to end the world.”

A sly smile crossed Siggy’s features at that. “Your sister suffers from similar superstitions,” she provided, “but I think there must be something more…unless the Haunting anticipated your arrival by half a century.”

“Well, this thing first showed up back when Ms. Danvers’ family bought the place…” Buffy suggested.

Siggy nodded. “And definite human agents would have been necessary to build that underground temple.” She paused. “I wonder…” Her finger trailed down the page. “Ah, the ritual for summoning the Shur-Ashk-Um-Ur-Abi.”

Buffy gave her an annoyed look.

“The _Haunting_ ,” Siggy corrected. “Yes, I do believe that the temple could serve in this function.”

“So someone decided to invite this thing to the all-you-can-eat buffet of human misery?” Buffy inquired skeptically.

“So it would appear,” Siggy agreed.

“Someone’s in for a world of pain,” Buffy decided. “If they’re still alive, that is…”

“So that human _would_ deserve death, then.”

Apparently, the war was back on.

“I didn’t say that,” Buffy countered.

“Do you believe it?” Siggy demanded.

“No, of course not!” Buffy insisted.

“So, you cannot foresee any circumstance in which a human would deserve death?” Siggy pressed.

“Humans have a right to live.”

“All humans? In all circumstances? Would killing a human ever be justified?” Siggy continued. “Criminals, perhaps? Or during wars? Or in self-defense?”

“That’s not what we’re arguing about,” Buffy pointed out. “We’re talking about a demon killing a human.”

“A demon, then,” Siggy agreed readily enough. “Would a demon be justified in killing a human in any of the circumstances I have listed?”

Buffy shook her head. “You’re muddling the issue. Demons don’t kill for those reasons. They kill because… They just do! They don’t have souls, not like us.”

“But what of the many demon species that do not kill? Xel and Lena do not have souls, yet their species does not kill humans. Are they inherently evil?”

“ _Vampires_ are,” Buffy insisted vehemently. “They kill humans all the time.”

“Many do,” Siggy conceded. “But Spike does not. Is he evil merely because many of the rest of his kind kill indiscriminately?”

“He just killed a man in cold blood last night!” Buffy exclaimed.

Siggy’s eyes narrowed. “Not in cold blood,” she countered. “He was defending me.”

“He didn’t need to kill Tucker to defend you,” Buffy insisted, arms crossed in front of her. “You were already safe when he did it.”

Siggy frowned for a second. “If I were being attacked by a vampire,” she began slowly, “and you came across us, you would naturally keep the vampire from biting me, correct?”

Buffy nodded at that, a curious expression on her face.

“And once the vampire was no longer in danger of biting me, would you let it go or would you stake it?”

“It’s not the same,” Buffy insisted. “Vampires are dangerous.”

“To us,” Siggy agreed. “To humans. But can you honestly not imagine that a vampire would view a demon hunter in a similar light – as dangerous, as killing without provocation?”

“It’s not…” Buffy sighed. “Things aren’t that way. Demon hunters kill to prevent deaths. Vampires kill for sport, for food.”

“Suppose I agree with that,” Siggy picked her battle. “Where does Spike fall on that spectrum? He has killed neither for sport nor food in a decade.”

“Because of the chip,” Buffy corrected.

Siggy rolled her eyes. “The chip was gone long before I knew him,” she said matter-of-factly. “I have even seen it. He keeps in a little jar in his room.”

“That can’t be true,” Buffy insisted. “I saw it go off. Back at the ball, he and Dawn crashed into each other and…zap!”

“Oh,” Siggy sighed, “that.”

“Yeah, that,” Buffy agreed. “Looked like the chip to me.”

“That is not coincidental, I’m sure,” Siggy agreed. “He has done that all the time that I have known him. A sort of mental reflex, if you will.”

“Mental reflex?” Buffy was puzzled.

“When he does not wish to hurt a human, he mimics the chip’s reaction. He no longer has a physical trigger to stop himself so he has created a mental one,” Siggy explained.

“If he had a soul, he wouldn’t need to fake the pain,” Buffy countered stubbornly.

“But, in essence, has he not created his own equivalent to a soul?” Siggy inquired innocently. “Something that causes him grief when he harms an innocent? It is no longer forced upon him; it comes from within. How is that any less real?”

“I _was_ a psych major,” Buffy pointed out. “I know all about Pavlov.”

“Then, you must know that if such programming had been wired into Spike’s brain then he would not be able to harm humans even when he consciously wanted to,” Siggy argued.

Buffy bit her lip at that. “A soul would mean that he’d never _want_ to kill a human in the first place. If he’s been killing all this time…”

Siggy scoffed at that. “This is only the third human. And the previous two were also in circumstances where he was protecting another. It is not like he kills humans on a regular basis. And as for your other point… It is absurd. Humans have souls, and they kill each other all the time.”

Buffy sighed and clutched her head in her hands. “You’re not looking at this from my perspective,” she complained.

“And you’re not looking at this from _his_ perspective,” Siggy countered…

* * *

“Was it really necessary to kill him?” was Dawn’s sole question once she and Spike were alone.

He sighed. “Prob’ly not,” he conceded.

“I see.” Dawn sat down on the bed with a weary sigh.

“Prob’ly could’ve just given the wanker the beatin’ of his life,” he amended.

“That’s better?” Dawn inquired curiously.

He shrugged. “You lot all seem to think so.”

Dawn groaned. “God, why?” she asked rhetorically.

“He attacked Siggy,” Spike said simply. “No one hurts either ‘f you and lives.”

“The _Haunting_ attacked Siggy,” Dawn corrected.

“Wasn’t exactly payin’ attention to eye color at the time,” he countered.

“Did you feel like you were in danger?” Dawn demanded.

“No. Could’ve taken ‘im any day, rifle an’ all.”

“Did you feel like Siggy was in danger?”

“Damn right,” he insisted vehemently.

“Even though Tucker was nowhere near her and you and Buffy were both there?” she pointed out.

“Almost too late that time,” Spike argued. “The next…” He trailed off pointedly.

“Do you have any idea how less convincing this time is than your previous two kills?” Dawn inquired curiously. “’Cause I’m having a really hard time seeing the absolute necessity in this case…”

He looked down at that, troubled deeply by how Dawn was reacting. “Whadda you want from me?” he asked softly. “That ‘m sorry I did it? Well, ‘m sorry it makes things tough for _you_ , but ‘m still glad he’s not around to have another go at Siggy – Hauntin’ or no. But ‘s not like I had anythin’ against ‘im. Din’t seem half-bad. Went to a lot ‘f effort to help you when Rick nabbed you, and I ‘ppreciated that…”

Dawn bit her lip. It was rare that Spike ever gave a speech that long or heartfelt, and she needed time to process it all. “I need to think,” she said simply.

He gulped, a wounded light in his eyes. “Right,” he agreed sadly. “Don’t know what more you could’ve ‘xpected from me,” he mumbled under his breath. “’m just a vampire, after all…”

 _Oh god, he really believes that…_ Dawn herself was overcome by a sharp pain to her heart at his words, and she quickly went over to give him a quick hug and a peck on the cheek. “Love you, big brother,” she assured him. “No matter what.”

He nuzzled his mark on her throat gratefully. “’m sorry I…”

“Shh,” Dawn assured him. “We’ll handle it together, okay? Right now, we’ve got a Haunting that I suddenly have renewed desire to kill…”

* * *

“Think of it. A demon from a usually violent species – as you yourself have pointed out – has managed to change his worldview to the point where he would rather defend his chosen prey from others of his kind than feed as all his instincts urge him to do. He has come to realize that _humans_ have a right to live, in general. Would it be no less extraordinary should you suddenly come to realize that demons have the same right?” Siggy gave Buffy a pointed look.

“Not if the demons kill,” the Slayer objected.

“Exactly the policy he uses on humans,” Siggy said in triumph. “He is still a vampire, of course, and always will be. He has adopted many human customs but…I think his protectiveness of those he considers his own will never fade. It is something about vampires that I can respect, given that it has just saved my own life.”

“Vampires aren’t like that,” Buffy insisted. “They can’t be trusted.”

“But Spike is different. Does your worldview allow for no exceptions to your rules?”

“I’m the Slayer. I can’t afford to make exceptions.”

“Then, why did you not kill Spike in the past, while he was chipped and defenseless?” Siggy pointed out logically.

“He couldn’t hurt humans then,” Buffy explained impatiently.

“Because the chip prevented him?”

“Yes.”

“And that he now prevents himself means nothing to you? He no longer lives as a demon. He has come to learn to function in the human world. He has come to accept many of our values and customs. He is still a vampire, true, but that it not _who_ he is. Many humans have killed as many men in similar circumstances and are rewarded as heroes. Is it so impossible to offer a man you claim to care for just a fraction of that trust? He has already bridged far more than half of the gap between you. If you are unwilling to make even one conciliatory step in his direction…” Siggy trailed off.

“If what you’re saying is true,” Buffy took a deep breath, “and he wants to be good, then why does he need the psychosomatic chip reaction?”

Siggy paused on that one for a minute, considering the question carefully. “I think,” she began, “that he is afraid, perhaps, to admit that he chooses the human life willingly. He has lived with the Big Bad image for so long that he does not want to abandon it.”

Buffy had to admit, it sounded a lot like the Spike she remembered from Sunnydale, consistently insisting he was a lot more evil than he ever was.

“And I also think that he has heard so often that a demon cannot be good that even he believes it now,” Siggy added. “He has so little faith in himself…” She trailed off sadly.

Buffy bit her own lip at that, several pointed barbs she’d thrown the vampire’s way popping instantly to mind. “I can’t condone killing,” she said simply.

“And I do not ask you to,” Siggy assured her. “All I ask is that, if you truly care for him, you will at least _try_ to understand him.”

Buffy opened her mouth to answer, but at that moment a knock on the door brought their conversation to an abrupt halt.

“How are we doing on killing our local Haunting?” Dawn asked as she and Spike entered the room…

* * *

If the Haunting were corporeal, it would have smiled. It was becoming strong once more, having fed well on all the corpses that had fallen in the Cascade Mountain Lodge in the past week. Pain, anger, hatred, despair – they all swirled through the few vessels left, providing a veritable smorgasbord of human misery.

Every day now it grew stronger, moving ever and ever closer to its ultimate goal. Soon even the most powerful of the mortals would no longer be able to fight it, and then…

It would claim its rightful host, and through that vessel it would feast upon the world.


	23. The Trap

Buffy sat back with a sigh and watched everyone else argue about how to get the ritual to work best. Since she seemed like the only person in the room who didn’t know a thing about magic, it gave her _way_ too much time to think.

Spike had been distant all day. That much was obvious. And, given that she’d threatened to stake him the night before, she could understand why he was a bit anxious. Hell, she sure as hell would be suspicious if someone promised her sweet kisses one minute and then threatened to kill her the next. So Spike’s reticence made a frightening amount of sense.

That didn’t mean wasn’t sick of it, though. It seemed as though the vampire had been spending all their years apart perfecting the art of driving her out of her mind. She was confused enough about her feelings for him without him doing his impression of a hot-and-cold running faucet to complicate things further.

He sat beside Dawn now, brow furrowed in concentration at the plan she and Siggy were forming. Occasionally, he’d make a comment or flash at smile at Veronica whose hand seemed to be ‘unintentionally’ bumping his leg far too often, but he didn’t throw a glance Buffy’s way once.

“Okay, so this is the summoning spell?” Dawn inquired, pointing to a section of the text Siggy had spent the afternoon perfecting.

“That seems to be the case,” Siggy agreed, scanning the lines.

“Why do we care?” Veronica asked in a bored drawl. She re-crossed her legs, and her foot brushed Spike’s thigh lightly.

“Because,” Lena retorted in the best ‘duh’ voice she could manage, “this might be how the Haunting got here in the first place, am I right?”

Dawn nodded. “It looks like it.”

Lena flashed Veronica a triumphant look and primped her antennae.

“But the book came from Eustacia Collins,” Xel pointed out, coming to Veronica’s defense much to Lena’s annoyance. “She tried to destroy the Haunting. Why would she have the book that summoned it in the first place?”

Dawn groaned. “I have no clue,” she admitted, “but our priority is getting rid of this thing, so why don’t we save those questions for later?”

“Spell to kill it s’not easy,” Spike commented off-handedly. “Think you can handle that, Bit?”

“It’ll require a circle,” Dawn agreed with Spike’s assessment. “Who here has enough magical experience that they think that they could handle it?”

Siggy and Veronica’s hands shot up, as well as a hesitant Xel’s. Spike didn’t volunteer, of course, but Dawn was used to his healthy fear of magic by now.

“That’s more than enough,” she concluded. “We just have to get some decent practice in, a few supplies…”

“Well, _that_ certainly was simple,” Veronica pointed out.

“I doubt it will be anywhere near as simple as it seems,” Siggy agreed, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. “We shall have to work from the original language, I think. The German text,” she gestured to Spike and Dawn’s recitation of the old spell, “is an attempt at translation, I believe. It was obviously not fully successful.”

“Who’s up for a crash course in ancient Demonic Kassite?” Dawn joked.

Several groans, most prominently from Veronica.

“Do we have to do this _now_?” she complained. “I mean, honestly, we’re the only ones left for the Haunting to bother.”

“Yeah, and we’re not slowly dying off or anything,” Buffy commented sarcastically, fully fed up with the whiny woman.

“Besides, the sooner we kill this thing, the sooner we can get _paid_ and go home,” Lena concluded with a defiant cross of her arms.

Veronica bit her lip, debating the pros and cons of that argument. On the one hand, the money was nothing to scoff at, but on the other all chance of bedding Spike would vanish the instant they went their separate ways. Ah well, if nothing else, she could just get him drunk tonight…

“All right, I’m in,” she sighed wearily.

Siggy gestured for the potential spell-casters to gather round, leaving Buffy, Spike, Rick, and Lena to their own devices.

“Well, _I’m_ going to make sure that Ms. Danvers character is ready to pay,” Lena announced. “If _she_ hasn’t run off as well, that is…”

“She was here this morning,” Rick provided, “although she refused our offer of breakfast.”

Veronica shook her head. “That woman is _insane_ ,” she concluded. “Why doesn’t she just run for it? It’s not like she’s shown _any_ interest in what we’re doing here. The only good her staying is doing is giving us another potential victim to worry about.”

“Especially since she never shows her face,” Xel agreed, giving Veronica a hopeful smile.

Her attention was too riveted on Spike to notice, however. A disappointed pout turned her lips down when she saw that he was getting up to leave as well.

“So long as she’s got our money, I don’t care one way or another,” Lena said with finality, casting one last warning glance in Xel’s direction before she strutted from the room.

“Well, no one can say she does not know how to make a exit,” Siggy commented good-naturedly.

Xel ventured trying a leer on her. It failed miserably since she was too busy shuffling through her papers. He redirected the look at Veronica instead, who was still watching where Spike stood by the doorway with a pout. Buffy was also unavailable given that she seemed to be watching Spike’s every move as well. He turned to Dawn…and Rick’s eyes glowed a threatening red behind his glasses. With a defeated sigh, Xel turned back to the matter at hand.

Satisfied that the other demon was perfectly aware of what would happen to him should he make any unwelcome advances on Dawn, Rick rose as well. “It is getting late,” he provided in a soft voice when she turned to look at him. “I will see about making us all dinner.”

Dawn flashed him a grateful smile at that and reached up to brush her lips across his. “Thanks,” she said with a slight blush.

Rick’s cheeks were reddened as well at the extremely public display of affection. “Right, then…I…” He trailed off and, with a shrug, vanished in the direction of the kitchens.

Dawn coughed deliberately and turned to Siggy. “Let’s get cracking,” she insisted.

Spike trailed out of the room at that, Buffy close on his heels. Veronica sent the pair a nasty look.

“Spike…” Once they were out in the hallway, the thousands of words she wanted to say to him vanished in an instant, leaving only his name.

“Yeah?” He turned hesitantly back to look at her.

She gulped. “I was just…I mean…you said you’d have that music for me today,” she stumbled upon the first thought that came to mind.

He nodded curtly. “Yeah, sure, can write that out for you. Let me just get the notes from my room an’ all.” He headed swiftly for his and Dawn’s room, Buffy following close behind.

“With any luck, we’ll be able to get rid of the Haunting tomorrow,” Buffy commented casually, fingering a curled up edge of the wallpaper as she watched Spike shuffle through his belongings.

“Haven’t been havin’ much of that, though, have we?” he countered, pulling a sheet of paper from a notebook and writing on it.

“What?”

“Luck,” he clarified.

Buffy bit her lower lip and ventured further into the room. “I don’t know about that,” she countered. “I mean, you, me, and Dawn meeting up again… That was a good thing.”

He looked her in the eye then, for the first time since he’d killed Tucker. “Was it now?” he asked curiously, head cocked to one side.

“You don’t think so,” she said defensively and a little hurt.

His face softened at that. “What do you want me to think, Buffy?” he countered. “You say you’ve changed and you want…somethin’,” he glossed over with a wave of his hands, “and then five minutes later you’re back to tryin’ to stake me. What’m I s’posed to believe, exactly?”

Buffy sighed. “Can I sit?” She gestured to the couch.

Spike waved her in and watched with a curious tilt to his head. Something _had_ obviously changed in the intervening years; he couldn’t read her as easily as he used to do. He was surprised how much he missed the connection. And yet there was something within her – the very complexity that confused him – that somehow seemed encouraging, made him almost willing to trust despite the promises he’d made to himself just the night before…

“What did Dawn say?” she asked tentatively.

He sighed at that. “Verdict’s still withheld.”

“Oh.” She looked down at her feet. “Siggy’s quite something, you know,” she offered.

“Yeah, my own personal therapist,” Spike agreed with a roll of his eyes. “What theories has she been spinnin’ off you lately?”

Buffy shrugged. “She accepts what you did unquestioningly.”

He snorted. “No, she _understands_ what I did unquestioningly. Never know what judgments that woman makes on her own.”

“Well, it’s nice to know there’s at least one thing you don’t share,” Buffy muttered under her breath. Oops, she had forgotten about vamp hearing.

“You’re jealous!” he accused in disbelief.

“Am not,” she shot back childishly.

“You get _married_ , and you’re the one who’s jealous?!” he demanded.

“ _Divorced_ ,” she corrected, “and that was so your fault anyway.”

“ _My_ fault? What about the poofter?”

Buffy blinked in surprise. “How did you…?” she began.

“Oh, I heard all ‘bout his triumphant return,” Spike groused, arms crossed over his chest defiantly.

“How?” Buffy blurted out incredulously.

“Think I didn’t still have my contacts back in Sunnyhell?” Spike retorted. “Wasn’t even gone six months before Wonder Gel’s poster boy gets his soul anchored.”

“I—” Buffy shook her head. “ _You’re_ jealous,” she accused.

“Am not,” he retorted in virtually the same manner she had earlier.

“God, I’d forgotten how infuriating you can be sometimes…” Buffy rolled her eyes heavenwards.

“Yeah, well, tomorrow you can run back off to your Hellmouth—”

“ _Former_ Hellmouth,” she corrected.

“—And not hafta worry ‘bout me annoyin’ you ever again,” he concluded angrily, blue eyes flashing. He hadn’t meant to go off on that Angel tirade, really he hadn’t. But something in him just wouldn’t let the topic rest.

Buffy sighed. “Yeah, that sucks,” she concluded.

“Really?” Foolishly!Hopeful!Spike was back for a brief guest appearance.

“Well, I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again. Or Dawn. And both of those things really do suck,” she explained. “If it weren’t for the whole psycho-Haunting with the surround sound blood-filled dreams and the intentional creation of human misery, I’d miss this place.”

Spike chuckled at that. “Sounds like how I felt about Sunnyhell,” he added.

Buffy groaned. “You thought it was hell _before_? I’d _welcome_ some vamp attacks, just to break the monotony.”

He cocked his head to one side thoughtfully. “You’re exaggeratin’,” he concluded.

“Okay, so maybe a _little_ ,” she conceded, “but I seriously need to take more vacations.”

“Some things never change,” he agreed with a small smile.

“And then some things do…” She trailed off. “I’m not going to stake you, you know.” The words came completely out of the blue.

“Then I obviously haven’t been succeedin’ in pissin’ you off well enough,” he shot back, hiding his surprise behind clever remarks out of reflex.

“I’m serious,” Buffy insisted.

“Well, good. Wasn’t exactly lookin’ forward to the fight to death…”

She shook her head. “You don’t think this is colossal?” she felt obliged to inquire.

He sighed. “Don’t know what to think anymore,” he admitted, flopping down into the armchair across from her in a dramatic flurry off black leather.

“Sure you do.” A strange inkling was tickling the edges of Buffy’s mind, an insight of such surprising clarity that it seemed inconceivable that she hadn’t thought of it before. “Have you ever felt like,” she began carefully, the words coming quickly and feeling as though they’d been chosen with careful precision at the same, “like there’s just something _inside_ you that you can’t explain, can’t justify? You have all these feelings, and you logically know that you shouldn’t have them, but you do anyway and there’s nothing you can do to stop them? L-Like there’s something changing inside you, that’s viewing the entire world in a different light all of a sudden, and it’s kind of scary because you aren’t quite sure that you want to change, but then when you start to accept it, you realize that it’s not really that scary after all? That it’s exhilarating instead? And it’s, like, ‘where has this been all my life?’ But there’s just something – some _one_ – that makes it all seem worthwhile in the end, even if the road’s complicated and confusing and sometimes you wonder whether you should even be on it in the first place?”

Spike’s attention had honed in with sharper and sharper intensity, frank disbelief at her words stunning him one instant and recalling long-forgotten memories of his own first feelings for the Slayer. Feelings that the old world was slipping away and… “Yeah.” The answer was so simple and yet so much more.

“Then you should think that that’s the way I feel because it’s true,” Buffy concluded. “And that I’m no less confused about what it all means – or _should_ mean – than you were. I mean, I’m not perfect, and I change my mind, and I don’t always make the right decisions the first, or even the second, time. But it’s slowly starting to look clearer…”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah, sounds familiar.”

She ventured a soft smile at that, still as confused as ever but reveling in the knowledge that the similarities at their seams ran even deeper than she had dared imagine. “How about this one?” she offered. “Have you ever just completely lost hope? Have you ever been hurt so badly that you just feel like it’s not worth it anymore? And you kind of try to go on, but everything feels superficial, and you never really invest yourself because the risk is too great? And it makes you close yourself off to the point where there’s something wonderful right in front of your face, but you refuse to even look at it closely because doing so would mean that you could get hurt again? And that you’d have to move beyond something really painful in the past, even what the other person has done to you before?”

“Yeah…” He felt himself growing slowly mesmerized by her words, like she had somehow gotten inside his head, inside his heart. God, was this what it had felt like to her when he had sprung all those insightful comments on her in the past? Because he could see now; it was tantalizing to be sure, but some part of him just wanted to run back to the ways things had been… “Maybe. Got any advice to someone who feels like that?”

“It’s worth it,” she said simply, smiling at the way he seemed to be leaning into her now, the surprise and understanding in his eyes. “Denial just adds to the pain, and…” A gasp escaped her lips when his hand came forward, and his fingers brushed the hair back from her cheek gently. “…It’s worth it,” she repeated breathlessly.

“H-How do you know…?” God, his voice was _shaking_. Literally. Half of him screamed that this wasn’t how a Big Bad behaved, that he’d gotten over all of this, that no one would ever make him weak and vulnerable again. How was she doing this? How did she know…?

“Because, while you might have been full of bullshit most of the time, you were right about one thing – we _are_ alike. From different worlds, maybe, but both trapped in the same place between them.”

“No,” he shook his head. “I was wrong. You don’t—”

She brought a gentle fingertip to his lips. “No one else ever cut through my façade the way you did,” she insisted. “And the way I feel now… It’s just like…it all makes sense. I can understand you because you’re _me_ , just at a different place.”

He let out a deep breath at that and closed his eyes. “It won’t work.”

“What won’t?”

“This. Somethin’s gonna come up again, mess everythin’ up, and we’ll be back to square one. Used to have these fantasies where it was all rainbows and sunshine between us – or more like blood and fangs,” he amended.

She smiled. “Same difference?” she teased.

A quick chuckle. “But ‘s not gonna be like that. So, why…?” He left the question open.

“You’re right,” she agreed softly, hand reaching over to cover his where it rested on his knee. She could lean forward now, and their foreheads would brush, but she held back. “It’s always going to be hard. Two steps forward and one step back. And sometimes it will be even harder than that.”

“Why, then?” he repeated.

“Because something inside me really believes that it’ll all be worth it in the end,” Buffy said simply. “That, while I might tire of the effort at times, in the long run I’ll be glad I did it. I know you felt the same way once; you must’ve.”

A deep sigh. “Maybe.” His eyelashes fluttered open.

Buffy smiled. “Music?” she inquired curiously.

“Huh?” He looked at her blankly.

“You were going to write that music out for me?” she reminded him with a little laugh.

“Oh…right.” He shook his head and rolled his eyes at his own distraction. Several more notes were penned into place before he handed the paper over to her. “You don’t need me, right?” Furtive eyes flitted around the room.

“I do,” she said sincerely. “But not in the ‘you can’t watch your soaps’ way,” she added with a giggle.

Mock-innocent eyes looked up at her. “No idea what you’re talkin’ about, luv,” he insisted.

“You just did the clock-remote-TV glance,” Buffy informed him. “Read: ‘Spike wants to watch some crappy TV show.’”

He huffed and snatched up the remote. “Bloody irritatin’ chit,” he decided, changing the channel.

She laughed. “I’ll see you this evening, Spike. When we’ll hopefully kill this son of a bitch once and for all.” She headed out with an extra spring in her step, feeling revitalized in an amazing way.

“Luv?” His question cut her off at the door.

“Yeah?” she asked curiously.

“’S really worth it?”

She smiled softly. “Yeah,” she assured him. “Even if everything else sucks, you occasionally get these little moments. And those are all worth it, whether or not you get anything more.”

His own mind flashed back through a series of seemingly random events – Buffy crying when her mom was sick and letting him offer whatever clumsy comfort he could, a soft kiss after he’d been tortured by Glory, a trusting invitation and an elicited promise…“I’m counting on you to protect her,” the feel of soft hands in his, still bleeding from crawling out of the grave but alive and so warm…

“Tend to forget those sometimes,” he commented.

“Yeah,” she agreed, “but, in the end, that’s what it’s all about. And if you don’t let yourself have those moments…” She trailed off. “It’s a trap, a sort of living death.”

“Tonight, then?” He was watching the TV screen now, although Buffy could tell his mind was miles away from the flashing images before him.

“Tonight,” she agreed with a smile before shutting the door behind her.

And taking a deep breath. Because that had _definitely_ been one of those moments…

* * *

“Bored, bored, _bored_.”

Dawn and Siggy exchanged a look, both thinking the same thing: _Dibs on killing Veronica._

“This is tiring,” Xel agreed, shooting a hopeful look Veronica’s way.

“Perhaps we could take a break,” Siggy conceded. “Rick must be—”

“Right.” Dawn visibly perked up at the mention of Rick’s name. “Maybe I should go check on dinner, and the rest of you can take a break, and then we’ll get back to it tomorrow morning?” she suggested.

“Oh _god_ , yes,” Veronica agreed with a sigh that bordered on orgasmic.

Xel licked his lips.

Siggy was grinning evilly at Dawn as they rose to get up. “If you must have sex,” she whispered teasingly to her friend as they exited the recreation room, “try not to do it near my dinner.”

Dawn’s face flushed a deep purple, and she whapped Siggy on the shoulder. “Evil woman,” she declared.

Siggy merely laughed and returned to her notes, pleased with their progress that night. Six more hours’ work at the most, and they should be able to cast the spell.

“It really is just _dreadfully_ dull, isn’t it?” Xel was inquiring of Veronica, following after her and looking for all the world like a hopeful puppy-dog.

Siggy shook her head at the unusual crowd at the inn and went back to her decipherment. There were still some parts about a ‘host’ that didn’t quite make sense to her…

* * *

Veronica was a woman with a purpose, and that purpose lay dead ahead. An extra sashay entered her step, and she checked quickly behind her to make sure she’d ditched Xel completely, before she sauntered up to her prey, seductive smile out in full force.

“Hello, lover,” she practically purred, sidling up the hard, leather-clad body of the vampire.

Spike blinked in surprise. It wasn’t often that someone succeeded in sneaking up on him, but the conversation with Buffy earlier that evening had left him preoccupied, pondering the wisdom of her words. It only took him a second to respond to Veronica’s obvious mood, however.

“Well, now, where’ve you been hidin’ yourself, luv?” he replied in a husky whisper.

Veronica let out a distressed little whimper. “That secretary of yours,” she whined, “she’s so… _boring_.”

Spike chuckled softly at that. “Has her moments, true,” he agreed, flashing back to Siggy’s five-hour lecture on the sociology of human/vampire cohabitation back in Stockholm.

“Makes a girl all…tense…” Veronica rolled her neck around with the last comment, flashing bare white throat and long crimson locks for him seductively as she did so. Her hand caught his larger, colder one, and she gave him a coy smile. “Such _strong_ hands,” she cooed, thumb rubbing small circles into the now-still pulse-point of his wrist. “I don’t suppose you could help me work the _kinks_ out…”

Before he even had a chance to respond, she’d guided his hand to the taut muscles of her neck, guiding them in their massage. The sensation was…curious for him. Flashes of his conversation with Buffy flitted through his mind, reminders of the _faux_ relationships he created solely in an effort to be a part of, yet closed off from, life at the same time.

“Mmm,” Veronica moaned, quite probably unnecessarily. “Don’t suppose you’d care to stop back in my room? Allow me to…return the favor?” Her eyelashes fluttered enticingly.

Yes, this was exactly the sort of thing Buffy had been talking about. It was so simple – just a quick seduction, pleasure, and then a parting of ways. It wasn’t messy or complicated. It wasn’t _real_. But it was so easy, comfortable, safe, and…

Veronica had managed to guide him halfway down the hall to her room before he finally fully absorbed what was being offered to him. He flashed her his usual seductive leer, and she smiled back at him. There was no doubt whatsoever that she desired him, just like all those before her. Hell, he was good-looking. Plenty of women were drawn to him, the attractive exterior all that interested them. It had sustained him for years, too.

 _Not sustained. Weren’t alive enough to be sustained, mate._

He couldn’t deny the truth in his own mind. But he had tried to be alive once, and didn’t that way only lead to pain?

And then Veronica pushed him back against the door, and her lips were on his, and his time for speculation had run out…

* * *

Buffy rubbed her right hand, her fingers worn out from hours of practicing. She hadn’t remembered her fingers tiring so easily, but then she’d been a little kid back then. Also, she was confident that she’d never been this involved in learning a piece before.

But this felt like a piece of Spike she was learning, memorizing, ingraining into her mind and body, and that meant it didn’t feel like work at all. In fact, when she’d looked up at the clock, she’d been surprised at how long she’d been at it.

Dawn had probably left the others to their own devices by now, and she desperately wanted to catch her sister. She felt an overwhelming urge to tap Dawn’s brain, to learn how she dealt with the confusing issues surrounding vampires and morality, and… Just to learn. Because, even after all the changes she’d gone through back in Sunnydale, there was still so much about what Spike was that was just… _alien_ to her way of thinking. And she wanted to understand it all, not just what they shared in common.

Folding the sheet of music up neatly in her pocket, Buffy left the sitting room and wound her way back to Dawn and Spike’s suite. A good first place to search for Dawn, her mind reasoned. _Yeah, right, you_ sooo _know you’re just looking for another chance to talk to Spike…_ She didn’t quench the errant thought; after all, it was true.

However, as she rounded the corner, she saw something that puzzled her. The door to Spike and Dawn’s suite had been left ajar. She approached hesitantly, wondering if something else had happened, if the Haunting was up to its old tricks again…

And then she heard it.

A definite, female moan. Coming right from Spike’s room.

Buffy froze for a second, unable to believe her ears. Surely, after their discussion that evening he wouldn’t… No. Maybe Dawn and Rick had taken over his room, and – hey – major squick factor for having to hear her sister have sex.

But the next cry broke her heart in two because there was no question whatsoever that Veronica was the one screaming out in ecstasy…

* * *

Dawn pulled back to gasp for breath, and Rick took the opportunity as well, the pair of them panting heavily and still leaning back against the wall of the kitchen.

“Is the food burning?” Dawn felt obliged to ask, fingers gently tracing the smooth line of his jaw.

“I made sandwiches,” Rick shrugged. “I am no Four Star Chef.”

“Oh,” Dawn nodded. “Good.” And she pulled him back in for another toe-curling kiss.

And a shot rang out through the building.

They pulled away reluctantly. “Where did it come from?” Rick asked anxiously.

Dawn shook her head. “Back by the lobby?” she guessed.

He nodded. “You know, this really is the worst place to fall in love in the world,” he decided.

A small smile flitted past the business attitude Dawn had taken up at this newest disaster. “We’ll just have to finish up so that we can leave, then,” she concluded before dashing out the door.

And Rick ran after her, feeling guilty that his prayers favored those Dawn cared about so that the woman who had taken his heart could be spared the growing grief the Haunting forced upon them…

* * *

The sight within Spike’s room made her blood run cold, and she felt a thousand screams all building up inside her head, all shouting out the same, desperate word: _No!_

And then, as a balm to the agony that passed through her, a red hot rage filled her blood, seeping deep down into the marrow of her bones. Blinded by her murderous anger, her hand snatched up the rifle they’d retrieved from Tucker’s room, and with shaking hands she aimed it at the couple on the bed.

“ _Asshole_ ,” she bit out, bile dripping from her words.

The pair in bed froze at that instant, noticing her presence for the first time. Veronica’s eyes widened at the sight of the gun, and she moved to scream…

“Stop!” Spike cried out in horror.

But her hand was already on the trigger, and it exploded with a deafening blast, splattering the bed sheets with blood…


	24. Crimson Tears

_Earlier that night…_

Veronica pushed Spike back against the door, her insistent lips on his, and…

He remembered. In a sudden inspiration, it came back to him. He pushed Veronica back off of him in triumph. “That’s it!” he exclaimed in delight and relief.

Veronica blinked up at him, bewildered. She’d just thrown herself at him and… Why wasn’t he kissing her back? What on earth was _wrong_ with him?! “Huh?” she asked confused.

“Why this all seems so familiar,” he clarified, still proud that he’d solved the mystery that had been picking at the back of his mind since he had first arrived. “The meaningless sex reminded me. I know when I was ‘ere before.”

“ ‘Meaningless’?!” Veronica felt obliged to throw a hissy fit.

“Came here right outta Sunnyhell. This is where it all started…”

“What are you talking about?” Veronica was very put out right about now. He was supposed to be her tasty midnight snack and… Was he _walking away_?!

“Gotta tell Dawn,” he shot back before dashing off down the hallway.

And Veronica’s jaw dropped before slowly a pit of deep, red anger rose up in her belly. How _dare_ he?! Well, she would show _him_!

* * *

A small smile lit up Dawn’s face as she entered the kitchen, and she walked on her tiptoes as she snuck up on her unsuspecting prey, ready to strike…

“You cannot sneak up on me,” Rick informed her with a small smile, back still to her.

Dawn pouted that her plot had been foiled. “How’s the food coming?” she inquired.

He shrugged. “We can eat whenever you want. I am not much of a chef, so it is nothing fancy.”

“You made edible omelets this morning,” Dawn countered. “Compared to me, you’re a culinary genius.”

He chuckled at that and sat down on the edge of the table beside her. “I am beginning to agree with Veronica’s assessment that the loss of room service is a tragedy,” he joked lightly. “I feel as though I have been relegated to the sidelines.”

Dawn frowned and took his hand at that, still marveling at the contrast between his strong, chocolate brown fingers and her slighter, paler ones. “You’re not,” she assured him. “I’m really sorry today had to be so hectic but…” A slight blush. “I haven’t forgotten about you, even for a minute.”

He sighed and brushed one long lock of brunette hair from her face. “I have been unable to stop thinking about you, either,” he admitted.

“Maybe,” Dawn began with a coy smile, “we’ll have a quiet night tonight, and we can get some more alone time to…” She trailed off, a dancing light in her eyes.

Rick smiled at that as well and pulled her in closer. “You are amazing, you know that?” he whispered softly against her ear. “You are strong and compassionate and just…and very beautiful.”

Dawn sunk into his embrace with a contented sigh. “What’s going to happen to us when this is all finished and we leave?” she voiced the question in both their minds.

“You will return home?” he inquired softly.

She nodded. “I’ve got a business to run,” she pointed out. “Although…there’s nothing to say that you can’t come on over to the Big Apple, take a little vacation of your own… If you want to,” she added hastily.

He smiled. “I would love to,” he assured her. “It would give me cause to stop dreading the end of this case.”

Dawn’s face lit up as well. “You know, I kinda think that you’re amazing, too,” she offered before leaning in to steal a tender kiss from his lips…

* * *

“Bit?”

Spike quickly scanned the common room of their suite before ducking his head in each of the rooms. He frowned. No Dawn. _Better not be off with Demon-Boy…_ He grumbled internally, insisting on being inwardly sullen about the whole thing, even if some part of him that he kept _very_ tightly closed off was sort of happy that she’d finally found someone. Even if he was a Kayeri. And a complete wanker.

The more he thought about his flight from Sunnydale, the more memories surfaced of his first trip to the lodge seven years ago. He vaguely remembered stopping just before daylight, the raw emotional breakdown in the lobby, a pretty young blond he’d used to forget his troubles, even if only for a few hours…

Having firmly established that the suite was empty, Spike swore and pondered where Dawn could’ve gone. The recreation room was a good bet – probably was still working away in there. He left the suite in a flurry of excited leather, not noticing in his haste that he’d left the door ajar.

However, his trip to the recreation room also met with failure – or, partial failure in any case.

“Snow White,” Spike demanded of Siggy. “Where’s my Platelet?”

Siggy, thoroughly used to all his nonsensical nicknames, merely pointed in the direction of the kitchen. “She is ‘helping’ Rick to prepare dinner,” she joked lightly.

Spike groaned and collapsed into one of the armchairs that lined the room. “Great.” He could _just_ manage to restrain from perpetual snark around the young man as it was. And that was only because Dawn had done a really good job of yelling at him. But if he happened to catch them together in a compromising position… He was certain he would have coronary, whether or not that was physically possible with vampire physiology.

“Something has come up?” Siggy inquired curiously, looking up from her notes.

“Finally remembered when I was ‘ere before,” he announced proudly.

“Senile in old age,” Siggy teased lightly. “When was it?”

And Spike went into the tale with gusto…

* * *

A sly smile lit up Veronica’s face as a plan landed in her lap.

“Veronica,” Xel drawled with a smile, sidling up to her and placing his hand oh-so-not-subtly in the small of her back. “Where on earth have you been? I’ve been looking _everywhere_!”

“A coincidence then,” Veronica flirted with a enticing little smile, “because I’ve been looking everywhere for you, too.”

“Oh…really?” Xel asked with his most charming smile.

“Actually,” Veronica agreed, “I was wondering if you could help me with something…personal?” She fluttered her eyelashes at him.

“Anything you want,” he practically purred.

Veronica caught his hand in hers and guided it to her shoulder. “I’ve just got the most _awful_ kinks,” she said, looking out at him through lowered lashes so that the secondary meaning wasn’t lost. “Would you be at all willing to come back to my room to help me work them out?” she asked mock-innocently.

An all-out leer crossed Xel’s face. “Anything to help a lady in distress,” he agreed, taking her arm in his and leading her eagerly down the hallway.

 _Ha! Still got it!_ She congratulated herself inwardly. She had known that technique still worked; it was obviously just Spike that had been defective. But, as they turned to head in the direction of her room, she saw something that gave her pause. “Hold on a second,” she cooed to Xel. “I want to check on something…” She cautiously walked down the hallway to Dawn and Spike’s suite, surprised to find the door wide open and no one inside.

“I don’t think anyone’s here,” Xel commented, somewhat confused by the delay and more than a little horny. Figuratively speaking, of course. His kind didn’t actually have horns.

Veronica snuck a quick peek in Spike’s room. “No…” she agreed with a wicked little smile, “nobody is…”

“Let’s go, then,” Xel practically purred. “After all, those kinks…”

“Mmm,” Veronica smiled. “How about this?” she asked coyly. “How would you like to do something absolutely _sinful_?”

An eager leer. “What do you have in mind?” he inquired hopefully.

Veronica gestured to Spike’s bed. “The danger of getting caught is half the fun,” she said with a seductive wink. _And then that bastard will have to smell what he missed every night_ , the scorned woman in her added with glee.

Xel hesitated for a second. “Are you sure that—?”

Veronica cut him off by yanking him to her with a kiss, pulling him back into Spike’s room and letting the door swing shut behind them…

* * *

“And you did not sense the Haunting’s presence at that time?” Siggy pressed, taking scrupulous notes on everything Spike said.

He shook his head. “Wasn’t exactly at my best that day,” he admitted ruefully.

Siggy frowned and turned back to the text before her. “Just another piece of new information that does not quite fit into our puzzle.”

“Oh?” Spike asked curiously. “What’s that, then?”

“If I read correctly, our Haunting must have a vessel – a host – that it drains from its life. If the Haunting is still partially bound to the inn, that must mean there is someone here that—”

Spike cut her off at that moment with a sharp bark for silence. He cocked his head to one side carefully and slowly sniffed the air.

Siggy was instantly on alert. “Has something else happened?” she inquired nervously.

Spike’s eyes narrowed. “That _bitch_!” he suddenly exclaimed in outrage, practically launching himself from his chair and out the door.

Not one to resist such an intriguing segue as that, Siggy rose as well and followed after…

* * *

Lena didn’t know what had caused her to rise that night. But it felt as though a soft voice were whispering in the back of her ear, urging her on, telling her there was something she had to see.

She dressed silently in the still darkness of her and Xel’s room before venturing out into the hallway, letting her feet guide her throughout the winding corridors. The wind was whistling again now with the dark of the evening, but she barely even heard it so intent was she upon following the ghostly guide that led her…

A small frown creased her brow when her wanderings led her straight to the door of Spike and Dawn’s suite, but then she heard and all too distinctive sound, and suddenly everything was clear. Red rage swelling through her brain, she grabbed the nearest weapon – one of Tucker’s old hunting rifles – and opened the door to Spike’s room to see for herself…

* * *

Buffy felt her heart die in her chest at the noises coming from Spike’s room. In fact, she was so out of it that she didn’t even detect the figure racing down the hallway until he crashed into her. They collided with bone-crunching intensity – fortunately, both of them had strength and healing powerful enough that neither was injured – and only quick action on both their parts caused them to grab onto each other instead of toppling to the floor in a messy tangle of limbs.

“Bloody hell, Slayer!” Spike exclaimed in outrage. “What’re you, a zombie?”

“I-I’m sorry…” Buffy began to stammer. And then she realized who she was talking to. “Spike?” she asked in relief, the realization that she hadn’t lost him to _Veronica_ , of all people, sending delightful little tingles of joy down her veins. “It’s you!” She caught him up in an impulsive hug.

Spike blinked, completely bewildered by the odd mood change. “Uh…right…” He slowly extricated himself from her grip. “Not that I wouldn’t enjoy this at another time, luv, but a certain whiny redhead’s askin’ for a world ‘f misery right about now, so…” He dashed off to his room, froze in the doorway, and cried out with eyes wide: “Stop!”

An explosion. The sound of a rifle firing.

“Fuck.”

Buffy dashed for the suite as well, skidding to a halt in the doorway just in time to hear Veronica’s scream and see Lena raise the rifle for a second shot. Spike had already run in after the distraught demoness, but apparently she was more aware of what was going on than she let on because she leapt free of his lunge with a lithe twist. The motion put the wall between Lena and Veronica, though, sparing the woman in bed for the moment.

Lena cocked the trigger frantically, and then her red eyes alighted on Buffy. “Did you enjoy playing with my husband behind my back, too, bitch?” she hissed angrily, pulling the trigger and…

Buffy heard the second explosion ring in her ears and felt a heavy weight land on her chest before a veil of blackness fell over her. For a second she wondered if she’d just forgotten what death felt like until her rational mind kicked in again, and she felt that she hadn’t been hit. Realization that the weight on her chest wasn’t metaphorical slowly set in, and with it panicked understanding.

“S-Spike?” He felt dead on top of her, just like in her dream, so still and…

A soft mumble as her desperate hands found the hole through the back of his duster and came away stained with red blood.

“Spike, stay with me,” she pleaded. Oh god, it felt like the bullet had hit his heart. If it had been made of wood, he would probably be dust by now. She was dimly aware that Lena must’ve left after shooting Spike since the demoness wasn’t in the room. Ignoring the frantic shouts that seemed to be all around her, she managed to pull herself out from under where Spike’s body had protected her from the deadly bullet. “Spike?” she repeated frantically.

“Nobody ‘urts my girls,” were his final words before he went still…

* * *

Rick skidded around the corner, dashing after the fleeing Lena. He could hear Dawn and Siggy behind him, but they were both human and too slow to keep up with the D’vorak they were pursuing. Rick, on the other hand, was quickly gaining on Lena, and she was mere inches from his grasp when she suddenly ducked into a side room, eluding his grasp.

He skidded to a halt and darted back in the other direction, only to find the door locked behind her. He twisted wildly at the knob a few times, trying to jar the door open, but it was no use. Just as he’d taken a step back to kick the door open, Dawn rounded the final bend.

“Don’t,” she warned. “That gun could be loaded and just waiting for you to kick the door in.”

Rick froze at that and nodded. “What do we do, then?” he inquired anxiously.

Dawn panted a bit, still out of breath from the run. Siggy had arrived by now as well and was leaning heavily against the wall as she tried to catch her breath.

“Is there another way in—?” Dawn began.

And a third shot, one of chilling finality, rang from behind the locked door.

The three of them froze.

“Do you think…?” Rick began hesitantly.

Dawn bit her lip and then nodded nervously. “Bust it in.”

One powerful kick and Rick was in the room, and…

“Another casualty to the Haunting,” he practically whispered before turning rapidly away from where Lena had taken her own life.

Dawn nodded shakily at closed the door once more before the growing pool of blood. “Oh god…” she gasped, everything that had happened recently suddenly overwhelming her. “Oh god…” She shakily dropped to her knees and fisted her hands into balls.

Rick, still looking a bit queasy from the sight of Lena’s suicide, slumped against the wall beside her, his own mind screaming at the injustice of it all. “I-I did not mind the extra ‘R’s she put in my name so much,” he finally admitted with a gulp. “She was not so bad, you know?”

Dawn nodded numbly. “G-God, she’s…” She trailed off. “I blew it,” she began slowly. “I failed them all…”

Siggy, still breathing heavily, saw that the situation was deteriorating rapidly. It wasn’t that the demons’ deaths hadn’t been traumatic, but she had known them less well, and that seemed to allow her to see more clearly that the crisis wasn’t fully over yet.

“It was not your fault,” she informed Dawn confidently. “They were all experienced demon hunters, and they were well aware of the danger.”

“B-But I was their leader…”

“And you have gotten us to the point where we are ready to defeat the Haunting. It has caused all of this, not you,” Siggy insisted. “And if you allow yourselves to break down like this, you will just be feeding it further.”

That seemed to catch Dawn and Rick’s attention, but for the first time in years Dawn had absolutely no clue what to do. “W-What…?” she began shakily.

“We must go back and check to see who is still alive,” Siggy persisted, pulling Dawn up to her feet first, followed by Rick. “Our help may be badly needed.”

A shaky nod from Dawn. “You’re right, of course. It’s just that—” She broke off with a gulp.

“Think about it later,” Siggy instructed. “Right now we must check on the others…”

* * *

Oh god, she’d never seen so much blood in all her life.

Buffy pulled gently at the blood-caked leather that surrounded the wound and slowly stripped off Spike’s duster. He had long since passed out from the pain, and given that vampires could stay conscious through almost anything, that was saying something. His shirt was drenched with blood as well, of course, and when Buffy took one deep breath and a wipe of her forehead to try to focus, she smeared the lukewarm red all over herself as well.

“F-First aid kit…” The sound of her own voice was reassuring in the deafening quiet of the inn, giving her the focus she needed to scramble through Dawn’s bathroom and find a well-stocked field medic’s kit.

In relief, she ran back to where Spike still lay prone in the center of the common room and settled herself down beside him. She found the scissors right away and cut through the wet fabric of his shirt, hands shaking and fingers slippery from the blood that coated them. The fabric peeled away slowly under her ministrations, and she found that the wound was still dribbling blood. It didn’t bleed the same way humans did, but rather seemed to bubble up slowly and flow from his body like a thick syrup.

Buffy bit down the anxiety that was threatening to overcome her and tried to wipe the wound clean with a towel. The white cloth turned instantly red, and Buffy realized that this wasn’t going to work. She looked around frantically for anything she could use, until she finally remembered the bathtub.

Cautiously, she managed to pull Spike over into the bathroom, careful not to jar the still-bleeding wound in his back. God, vampires weren’t supposed to bleed this much. Wasn’t it technically impossible or something? Of course, she’d never seen a vampire this badly injured, either…

Fortunately, the tub edge was low, designed more as a shower than a real bathtub. Buffy managed to get him inside and quickly rung out the towel in the inflowing water, Spike’s head on her lap in an unnecessary gesture to keep him able to breathe.

Pale skin was now visible amidst the red as she wiped the wound clean. A sympathetic wince at the ugly wound, and then she slowly reached outside the tub for the first aid kit.

If nothing else, the water had at least cleaned her hands, allowing them to hold the tweezers steadily. The wound continued to drip blood even as the tip of the metal probed it, and Buffy winced. If he was still bleeding, that had to mean that the bullet was lodged someplace vital where vamp healing wouldn’t be able to close up the blood flow around it. Either that, or he’d already lost too much blood to heal properly. She hoped it was the former.

“I-I’m not going to hurt you, baby,” she cooed softly, holding the edges of the wound back as she fished around for the offending bullet. God, he was a mess – shattered bone, torn muscles, and some other stuff she didn’t even want to _begin_ to guess at. “You’ll be all right,” she continued in a soothing voice. “I promise everything will be all right…”

The tip of the tweezers hit metal.

She gulped. God, fishing around inside him like this, it felt horrible, an odd flashback to that horrible dream she’d had when she’d…

“I’m not hurting you,” she repeated more vehemently, forcing the thoughts down as she concentrated on removing the slug. “I’ll save you. Don’t worry, love…”

Shakily, she pulled the tweezers out of the wound, breathing a sigh of relief when she saw that she’d indeed gotten the piece of deformed metal.

“See, baby?” she continued to talk to him. “I got it out. You’ll be just fine now.” She patted his hair lightly before running more water, cleaning off the excess blood that had accumulated in the meantime.

For the first time, the sounds of voices in the common room caught her attention, and she shouted out to them.

Dawn dashed into the bathroom, and her face paled. “Jesus…”

“He was shot,” Buffy said in a calmer voice than she would’ve imagined possible. “He lost a lot of blood…”

“All that back there is his?” Dawn pointed behind her, still shaken by the sight of her overprotective surrogate brother with a hole through his back.

Buffy nodded. “I-I think we need to get blood in him fast. He’s getting…thinner, I think.” Indeed, the vampire did seem to be growing more emaciated before her eyes. “He’ll need blood to heal.”

Dawn nodded numbly and raced over to the mini-fridge to grab the packages of blood there. She glanced up to see Rick and Siggy leading a shaken Veronica away. The woman was shivering in the blanket wrapped around her and had the most dead look in her eyes. The golden D’vorak blood that covered Veronica would’ve told Dawn that Xel was also dead, even without Rick’s rueful shake of the head. Turning her attention back to Spike, she raced back to the bathroom.

“Human,” she provided breathlessly. “We keep it for emergencies.”

Buffy nodded. “How’re we gonna get him to…?”

Dawn cut the corner of the bag with the scissors and waved in under his nose. No reaction. “Y-Yeah, we’re going to hafta feed it to him,” she agreed shakily. “We need to get his head tilted back somehow…”

Buffy nodded and pulled him up her body so that he was slumped over her. She tilted his chin back and grimaced that she couldn’t do better. “That’s as close as I can get,” she said apologetically.

“We’ll try it,” Dawn agreed. She managed to get his mouth open and felt around in his gums.

“What are you—?” Buffy began, but the answer came to her with startling speed when his fangs extended, and he snapped at Dawn’s fingers instinctively, vamping out.

Dawn, who had been thoroughly prepared for the involuntary reaction, yanked her fingers back just in time. She placed the blood bag there in their stead, and he slowly began to drink, looking for all the world like a fragile – if someone disturbing – baby bird, cheeping upward for food.

“Will he be all right?” Buffy’s whispered words were the first doubt she’d allowed herself to express.

Dawn grimaced. “Physically? Sure. But sometimes when vampires get starved…it does things to their minds.”

Buffy nodded. “What can I do?”

“Keep feeding him,” Dawn instructed, handing her the next bag. “And keep him warm. Vampires heal best when they’re human body temperature.”

“O-Okay, I can do that,” Buffy agreed. She placed the second bag at his lips after he had finished with Dawn’s.

“I’ll find you two someplace more comfortable than the bathtub,” Dawn offered, getting up. “Hopefully, that’s not covered in blood…”

“My room,” Buffy offered.

Dawn nodded before checking the wound at Spike’s back. “It’s not bleeding anymore,” she announced. “As long as he keeps getting blood…”

“Right,” Buffy nodded with a sigh, watching as Dawn left. “You’ll be okay,” she turned back to the vampire in her arms, stroking his platinum hair tenderly as she watched him feed. “You have to be. Because I love you, Spike…” she whispered against his cheek before placing a soft kiss on his closed eyelid.

He didn’t respond, still completely unconscious, but continued to instinctively drink…


	25. Within You Without You

_The world seemed to move in slow motion as Buffy raised the gun. Screams of agony sounded all around her, the plaintive cries of wounded innocents, begging for her to save them. Jerky motions of shattered limbs tried to move away, crawling from the deadly danger._

 _Buffy moved in to the source of their flight, gun still poised and ready to fire. Everything else moved in jerky halts, but she ran as gracefully as a gazelle, almost as if she were floating through the air. She could tell she was getting closer now. Only lifeless corpses filled the barren field beyond this point, victims to the monster that had committed this carnage._

 _Buffy heard a cry of pain around the corner and froze for an instant, steeling herself up for the task ahead of her. Gun still poised and ready, she rounded the corner…_

 _And found herself in the dirty alley behind the Sunnydale police station. Just like that horrible night seven years ago, Spike was covered in blood. But this time the blood wasn’t his._

 _Buffy gasped in horror as a monster’s face looked up at her, his features twisted into unnatural ridges and horns in her dream. For an instant, she could almost see his usual, handsome face flash her a wicked smirk, before he lowered six-inch serrated teeth to the throat of his latest victim._

 _The woman turned to look at Buffy with pleading eyes, and Buffy cried out when she recognized Dawn’s bloodstained face. Instinctively, her finger pulled the trigger and…_

 _Spike roared in pain when the bullet pierced his chest, ripping straight through his heart. His eyes flashed to their normal blue for an instant, and he looked at Buffy in disbelief before he vanished in an explosion of dust._

 _And then, in his place, rose a monster of unimaginable hideousness. The distorted demonic visage Buffy had seen on dream-Spike’s face was magnified a thousand-fold. Razor-sharp fangs ripped through Dawn, just as Buffy pulled the trigger a second time._

 _A click. The gun was empty._

 _A silent scream contorted Buffy’s features, and then the monster was upon her, fangs and claws cutting into her flesh…_

Buffy awoke with a gasp of horror, panting heavily at the nightmare. She looked around wildly for a moment, not certain where she was, and her eyes naturally alighted on the vampire beside her. A frown creased her brow for a minute before the events of last night came back to her, and she lay back down with a groan.

She really hadn’t meant to fall asleep the night before. She was just supposed to stay by his side for a little while, make sure he was warm enough, and then go spend the night on her big comfy bed. Some part of her subconscious had obviously wanted to stay at her love’s side all night, though. Hence her eyelids had drooped as she rested beside him, and now here it was morning. Morning after a night filled with horrible dreams about the atrocities she and Spike could commit against each other. She shook down the memories with a shudder.

“You scared me for a minute there,” she informed a still-sleeping Spike, placing a gentle kiss on one prominent brow ridge.

He was still in game face from last night, fangs and demonic bone structure squished into the pillow beneath him as he slept. For a second, the slight of fully vamped Spike, looking oddly bucktoothed the way his features pressed into the pillowcase, seemed like the cutest, funniest thing she had ever seen.

She smiled and brushed back one platinum curl from his ridged brow. “Don’t ever tell anyone I said this,” she continued to talk to him while checking the bandages on his back, “but I kinda like your vamp face. It’s actually sort of handsome…in a strange, demonic way.” She laughed. “You can tell I’ve met _way_ too many vamps, when I can actually start to spot the cuter game faces…” She peeled back the edge of the bandage and made a face. “Ugh. Okay, time for more blood…”

She rose from the makeshift bed Dawn had created on the floor of her room. In a desperate effort to keep every single mattress in the entire inn from getting soaked through with blood, they’d moved a bunch of sheets, blankets, and pillows to the floor until Spike’s wound closed up. It was looking like a smart move since a dark brown stain seemed to have permeated one of the sheets last night.

Buffy scrunched up her nose and pulled the offending sheet from Spike’s weakened grasp. She quickly grabbed one of the extra blankets Dawn had provided and tucked it in around him, making sure he stayed nice and warm during his recovery.

Satisfied that he’d be fine for five minutes without her, Buffy hurried over to the site of last night’s disaster and pulled the last two human blood packets from Dawn’s refrigerator. The suite was empty, of course, after the damage it had taken. A sleepy memory of her quick dinner with Dawn the night before provided that she and Siggy had taken up empty singles down the hall for the night.

Buffy returned to her room and made preparations for feeding Spike, shuffling pillows and propping him up without jarring the wound in his back. It really was turning out to be one of the more cumbersome places for him to have gotten shot.

She had just gotten the first bag into him when there was a soft knock on the door and Rick’s head poked inside. “I am temporary room service,” he provided, the joke sounding flat even to his ears.

Buffy cracked a half-hearted smile at the effort. “How is everyone?” she inquired softly, resting Spike’s head against the crook of her neck as she opened the second bag.

Rick sighed at set the breakfast tray down on a nearby table. “Veronica is still in shock, I think. She has not said a word. Siggy ended up staying with her last night.”

Buffy nodded slowly. “You and Dawn?”

“Tired,” Rick replied. “Last night was…horrible.”

“What’s going to happen with Xel and Lena?”

“Dawn is making preparations to have them taken care of. They…” He trailed off, still too shaken up to discuss the matter.

Spike finished the second bag with a little slurp, and Buffy was grateful for the distraction of lowering him back down to the floor. She actually wasn’t too much of the nursing type, but it gave her something to concentrate on so she didn’t have to think about everything else.

“Dawn wishes to know if you would like a break from watching after Spike,” Rick provided, turning the conversation away from the awful situation as well.

“It’s okay,” Buffy assured him. “I’ve got him.”

Rick refrained from making any comment at that. “How is he doing?” he inquired.

Buffy grimaced. “That was the last of the human stuff. Unless we’re going to go rob a blood-bank, we’re reduced to pig and cow now.”

Rick frowned at that. “The wound?”

“Only beginning to show signs of healing.” Buffy checked under the bandage to see healthy tissue slowly inching inwards along the edges of the wound. The blood was working, true, but now that he was reduced to second-rate stuff? She bit her lip in worry.

“I shall tell Dawn,” Rick assured her. “If the wound does not heal up quickly, sometimes it never will.”

Memories of handless vamps and ugly, debilitating scars flashed through Buffy’s mind, sending coursing fear through her veins. “He’ll get better,” she insisted vehemently, wishing this were one of those situations where her pigheaded stubbornness could solve everything.

Rick nodded and set down her breakfast tray on a nearby table. “Dawn will take care of it. You are sure you do not need any additional assistance?”

“No. But thanks.” A little voice in the back of her mind was screaming that Spike was _hers_ to take care of. After all, hadn’t he been injured saving her life?

Rick seemed to understand and got up to leave. “I will see you later, then.” He smiled as he left.

Buffy sighed when he was gone and got Spike settled back down into the blankets before she turned to her own breakfast. Omelets seemed to be becoming a theme, and she wolfed down the food with frightening speed. Hell, stuff like this always made her famished.

It wasn’t until she had polished off the last of the toast that she first noticed she had an audience.

“Buffy?” Spike’s cracked voice murmured.

“You’re awake,” she said with a small smile, crawling back under the covers beside him and laying her head down on the pillow so that he could look her in the eye.

He coughed and winced at the pain. “Wish I wasn’t…” His voice seemed to be fading out again.

She gave him a sympathetic smile. “Is there anything you need?”

“Be nice if the hole in my back went away…” he murmured with a hint of his usual humor.

Buffy laughed at that. There was something about seeing him back to his old snarky self that just made the world feel _right_ to her again. _Girl, you’ve got it_ bad _…_ “I’m working on it,” she assured him.

He shivered unnecessarily. “Cold, too.”

She frowned when she felt that the water bottles she’d set around him the night before had all gone cold. “Hang on a sec. I’ll just go—”

“No.” It was a little whimper against the side of her throat as he inched his body closer to hers. “Don’t go,” he pleaded softly. “Fixed up the crypt and there’s ice-cream in the fridge.”

Buffy sighed and lay back down, holding him closer to her. “Spike, you’re delirious,” she pointed out. “You haven’t had the crypt for seven years.”

“All right, ‘ve got your kittens…”

Buffy rolled her eyes and pulled him closer to her when he shivered again. It was a difficult task given that she had to favor his back and, as a result, she could only warm one side of him at a time. Unless… “Here’s hoping you’ve been laying off the junk food lately,” she teased lightly before lying down on her back and slowly pulling him over to her, until his body covered hers. She let out a little gasp at the feel of his weight on top of her and suddenly became painfully aware of all the fantasies she’d had over the years of getting this close to him again. “And I promise not to ravish you,” she added with a coy smile. “Unless you ask me to.”

He let out a low mumble but stopped shivering. “Warm. Don’t leave.”

She felt a little pain in her heart at the memories he was reliving in his semi-coherent state. “I’m not going to leave you, William,” she assured him softly. “I promise.”

“My Slayer…” A sigh and then a wince of pain.

Another of those odd moments of clarity overtook her then, as she watched Spike lying atop her in agony. She still had so many questions, so many doubts, but just like when she had tended to his wound after he’d first been shot, her instinctive reaction was to do everything she could to help him. His wellbeing meant the world to her.

“Spike?” she ventured hesitantly, shifting beneath him so that she could bring her arm up to her shoulder. “Are you still with me?”

A mumble.

She pushed her hair back from the left side of her neck, exposing the soft flesh there. “You need blood,” she decided.

“No fucking kiddin’.” He managed to flash annoyed yellowed eyes at her for an instant before the effort caused him to close them again.

“Well, I’m thinking Slayer blood’s gonna be the best…” she suggested, guiding his head over to her exposed throat. The Slayer in her was shouting out in alarm at the proximity to the vampire; the woman in her was more sure of this than she ever had been of anything in her life. “You need to drink,” she informed him matter-of-factly.

His eyes drifted open again at that, seeming to fully realize for the first time what was being offered to him. For a few seconds, he managed to raise himself up on shaky arms so that he could look down at her with conflicted yellow eyes. “B-Buffy?” His voice wavered, hopeful and insecure all at once, half-convinced that he was still delirious.

“Do it,” she insisted confidently. “I want to feel you…inside me…” She looked away at this admission, feeling raw and exposed to this beautiful demon’s gaze.

Spike gulped and nodded. “Wanted you for so long,” he whispered reassuringly as he collapsed atop her once more, his fangs now mere inches for her ear.

“Please…” she whispered back unhesitantly.

“Thank you…” And, with those final words, he bit deep into her throat…

* * *

“A host?” Dawn repeated with a weary sigh.

Siggy nodded. “Here. At the lodge. The host appears to be a sort of…emotional safety net for the Haunting. It breaks the host’s mind and then feeds from it when other sources of food are scarce.”

Dawn nodded.

“And it is someone here?” Rick spoke up.

“Someone who has been here all along,” Siggy corrected.

Dawn’s eyes narrowed at that. “There’s only one person…” she began.

Siggy nodded. “And she is quite old. The Haunting drains life force from its host. This means she will die soon, which means the Haunting must find itself a new host.”

“One of us?” Rick suggested nervously.

Dawn swore. “We’ve got to get rid of this thing and fast,” she decided.

“Xel is dead,” Siggy pointed out. “And Veronica is still in shock; she will not be able to assist in the spell.”

“And Spike’s out of it, too,” Dawn grimaced. “Rick?” she suggested hopefully.

“Kayeri have many skills,” he said apologetically, “but magic is not one of them.”

“We may require outside assistance,” Siggy suggested.

“Yeah, but who’s powerful enough to…” Dawn trailed off. “That old witch in Black Hills Falls?”

Rick frowned. “She is terrified of this place,” he pointed out.

“But she’s already tried the spell in translation once,” Dawn countered. “She’d need virtually no prep work.”

“But she would never agree to come here…”

Siggy raised a hand. “Let me at her. I shall have her convinced of anything you want within half an hour.”

Dawn smiled at how Siggy’s confident and efficient manner seemed to be returning. She had been noticeably shaken after Tucker’s attack, but nothing ever hit Siggy for long. “You can drive in this blizzard?” she inquired pointedly.

Siggy looked out the windows. “Those flurries?” she teased lightly.

Dawn grinned at that as well. “Better take my car. No one will even notice if you crash it.” She tossed the keys Siggy’s way.

“I will bring assistance as quickly as possible,” Siggy assured them before she set off on her task.

“Which leaves us to sit here and twiddle our thumbs,” Dawn sighed. “Unless…”

“I believe it is time we had a talk with Ms. Danvers,” Rick agreed…

* * *

Buffy hissed at the first initial flash of pain as razor-sharp fangs cut through the tenderest spot on her throat like a knife through hot butter. She had felt this pain before, of course, on the three other occasions when vampires had left their mark upon her.

The Master had been cold and brutal, inflicting the maximum amount of pain in the shortest amount of time before he cast her aside to die. Angel had been rough at first, the violent demon in him driven frenzied and to the surface by her taunts. But, then, after he’d come back to himself, oh, he’d felt so good she was still ashamed for thinking it. Almost as if she’d been cheating on Angel with Angelus. Dracula’s bit had been a lazy, trance-like seduction that wove through her mind to the point where she didn’t really feel much of anything.

But Spike…

After the first initial penetration, he’d stilled himself with agonizing effort. The first drops of her blood were a sweet elixir, food of the gods to top any other he had ever tasted. The urge to pull on her veins was incredible, but he held off, the sound of her hiss of pain doing strange, alien things to his heart that he had thought no longer possible.

Buffy took a deep breath and sighed in relief. All the vampires that had bit her had been different, but never could she have imagined that one could be so…gentle… She felt a fire burn deep inside her, the feel of her jeans on her inner thighs beginning to chafe. Oh god, this was so…

 _Amazing…_

A purr from the vampire atop her, almost as if he could hear her thoughts, and his lips began to move slowly against her skin.

Buffy wanted to cry out in ecstasy, to tell him how absolutely _wonderful_ this actually was, but her voice couldn’t quite work due to the treatment her throat was getting. Desperate thoughts tumbled through her mind, sounding in a rapid cacophony through her heated blood.

 _Never imagined…god, is it this good for vampires, too?…so incredible…Spike inside me…god, I’ve waited so long…so long…so deep and strong…oh god, Spike…_

 _Yes, luv…_

Her eyes widened for one instant at the rich sound of his voice in her mind before the lids fluttered shut again. Was she imagining, or had she actually heard…? But he was so close, his fangs in her throat and his hair clenched in her fingers, urging him onwards. His hips were grinding down into hers now, and she could feel that he was just as aroused as she was. His hardness rubbed erotically against the wetness between her thighs, somehow finding her clit through two layers of jeans and causing the seam to grind into it, bringing her ever closer to the brink of ecstasy. Dimly, the somewhat giddy thought flitted through her mind:

 _Hey, that blood’s for healing the wound. There’s plenty of time for Horny!Spike later…_

A chuckle against her skin.

Still nothing but silent gasps were emitting from her mouth. There was no way he could have heard her, but…

And, then, she began to sense something, as though it were far off in the distance at first: _Pain…fading pain…muscles and bones mending…flesh sewing back together…taste of Heaven…oh, sweet love…never dared dream…hope all gone and now…cor, even better than I had imagined…Buffy…Buffy…_

 _Spike?_

 _Yes, luv…it’s me…I’m right here…_

 _How can I hear you, how can…?_

His fangs plunged deeper inside her at that, and she gasped aloud as new twinges of pleasure shot through her body. He was moving fluidly on top of her now, showing no further signs of his injury. She had no way of seeing his wound, of course, but she had just felt the injury close itself, through the connection between them and…

 _So deep…so strong…so good…_ She tried intentionally sending thoughts his way for the first time.

 _So sweet_ , he countered. _God, Buffy I never knew…I can_ feel _your love…god, I can finally feel it…_

 _I can finally feel it, too…oh wow…how?_

 _Only done this once before…but Dru so dark…but, god, you’re so light, so beautiful, so…_

 _Effulgent?_ She plucked the word from his mind, perplexed. And then the entire incident from his miserable human existence came flooding into her, and she clutched him more desperately to her, crying the tears that had dried up in his own eyes over a century ago.

 _D-Don’t laugh…_ Even his mental voice sounded scared.

 _Never laugh at you…love you too much…I…_ But a dizzy feeling was overcoming her now, making it impossible for her to think clearly. Was she dying? Had it felt like this before? God, she couldn’t remember and…

 _Love you, too…tried to stop, but I couldn’t…tried to fight it, erase it…but…always loved you…_

And then Spike’s voice faded away as well, and her body cried out in release before the world faded to black…


	26. Words

_Thu-Thump._

Deep in the blackness, a consciousness slowly stirred to life. It was a lazy, comfortable awakening, provoked slowly by that one sound…

 _Thu-Thump._

 _Rr-rrrr._

The drowsy shroud of non-existence was slowly fading away now, leaving her only to wonder. _Who am I? Where am I? Am I alive?_

 _Thu-Thump._

 _Rr-rrrr._

She felt bodiless, like she existed in a fuzzy world of warmth, love, and contentment. A distant memory came back to her, and she wondered once more. _Is that it? Am I in Heaven?_

 _Thu-Thump._

 _Rr-rrrr._

She had been dimly aware of the sound before now, of course, but it first truly caught her attention at this point, and she puzzled over it. It was a perplexing mystery, a…

 _Thu-Thump._

 _Rr-rrrr._

She felt a touch, so soft and so sweet and so tender. The touch made her aware that, indeed, she was still in her body. She was still alive. The thought was all she needed to place the first sound.

 _Thu-Thump._

Her heartbeat.

 _Rr-rrrr._

So what was that?

The haze of slumber slowly lifted from her mind as the events of earlier came back to her. Spike suckling at her throat, that _amazing_ connection, and then…oh, sweet release. The warmth in her limbs increased at the memory, bringing her back into the world of the living…

 _Thu-Thump._

 _Rr-rrrr._

  _Spike and I made love._ The thought sent a giddy little thrill through her spine. It was unlike any lovemaking she had ever experienced, of course, but there was nothing else to describe what she – no, _they_ – had felt when he was inside her.

She stirred slightly, and the feel of lips, like soft, dewy rose petals, against the sensitive spot on her throat increased in intensity, welcoming her back into his bed.

 _Rr-rrrr, rr-rrrr, rr-rrrr…_

Buffy opened her eyes and smiled at the vampire beside her. “’Morning,” she said with a sleepy yawn, noticing with some surprise that he’d apparently relocated them both to the bed.

“You feelin’ all right?” he asked cautiously, a hint of pride in his eyes as they darted to the newest scar on her neck for a brief instant.

“Mmm.” Her fingers tentatively reached up to feel his mark. The skin was tender and sensitive there, and she felt little tingles of desire run through her body. The memory of what his own lips had felt like upon her skin there caused her mouth to go dry. “How much did you take?”

“Not too much,” he assured her. “Potent stuff, Slayer blood is.”

“But then why did I—?” She froze in mid-sentence.

A cocky, self-satisfied leer spread across his features, and the tip of his tongue curled up behind his front teeth in seductive invitation.

Buffy blushed. Okay, so she’d never actually blacked out from the force of an orgasm before, but…damn, that had been good… “Oh.” She managed a hesitant smile at that and curled up closer against him. “How’s the wound?” she inquired softly against the curve of his shoulder.

“Closed up,” he whispered against her hair. “Still a bit tender, but should be right as rain in a few days.” Startling blue eyes glanced down at the sheet between them shyly. “Owe you for that, pet.”

 _Rr-rrrr._

The sound was back, and a smile lit up Buffy’s face as she finally identified it. “You’re _purring_ ,” she said in delight.

“Am not!” Big Bad bluster was out in full force, feathers thoroughly ruffled.

Buffy merely placed one hand on his chest right over where his heart would be and felt the low vibrations rumbling through him. His eyelids fluttered shut at the caress, and the vibrations intensified. “You so are,” Buffy countered.

He scowled at her. “Vampires don’t purr,” he insisted in a huff, pulling away from her so he could lie on his back, arms crossed in front of his chest sullenly. It didn’t stop the damn purring, though.

Buffy sighed and decided retreat was the better part of valor. “Okay,” she pretended to agree, “I guess you would know.” She sidled up against him, his arms slipping around her, and she lay her head on his chest. _Mmm, benefits to harmless lie: Purring-Spike pillow. Definitely worth it._

His aspect softened as he watched her snuggle against him, but he still refused to cave in. “Damn right.”

Buffy just laughed. God, he could be just as stubborn as she was about things. Talk about denial… “I love you.” The words were accompanied by a soft kiss to his own neck, right over where his pulse had once beaten.

Spike froze at that. He knew, of course. He’d felt the words earlier in her mind, her heart, the pull of her blood. But to hear them spoken aloud… “Y-You don’t know what you’re sayin’,” he insisted.

She rolled her eyes. The stubbornness was going to continue, it seemed. “I know exactly what I’m saying,” she assured him, propping herself up on her elbows so that she could look down at him. “Whatever happened last night…”

Her memories flashed through the glimpses she had gleaned from his own memory. The ultimate mating for vampires, complete openness and exposure, Spike’s own previous experience – sacred because he had once cherished Drusilla, but also painful due to her broken mind. But last night…oh, she had showed him what love was really about.

“Last night,” she repeated with a little gulp, “I-I know it sort of came out of left field for the both of us. We both went into it thinking it would just be a bite, and it became…more. But I don’t regret what happened for a second. You were – _are_ – so beautiful inside.”

A glint of fear that he would never have acknowledged flashed through his eyes. She had seen everything last night. _Everything_. He couldn’t recall ever feeling this raw and exposed to someone else before. He’d always had at least some safety – the wall of his persona – to hide behind before. But now…

“Shh…” Her fingertip brushed his lips just as he parted them to say…well, not even he knew what.

Buffy watched the swirling emotions in his cerulean eyes and planned her strategy. She could see his fear, but accusing him of being afraid was a surefire way to make him close himself off.

“I’m frightened,” she finally admitted softly, her fingers still lingering on his full lower lip. “I… It’s just that you saw everything, and if you turn away from me now…” She let the statement hang.

“Shh, luv,” he soothed her, taking her into his arms and holding her close. “Know exactly what you mean.”

She reveled in the feel of his Buffy-warmed embrace, the return of the Spike who actually _cared_. “I never thought about what a demon’s mind would be like before,” she admitted softly, “but I never would’ve believed… It’s not scary or nasty or bad at all. It was just…beautiful. And I think that’s the most terrifying thing of all.”

A definite pause and a tension in his muscles as if he were pondering something, and then he placed a soft kiss in her hair. “Only half-believed this wasn’t just another of your mind games, y’know? Never would’ve thought that you, of all people… How can you…?”

“Love you?” Buffy finished. “After all that’s happened between us? You know how. It’s the same reason you do.” She looked up at him at that, wide hazel eyes and radiant smile.

A moment’s hesitation, a whispered “I love you” slipping from his lips, and then their mouths met in a furious kiss to dwarf all passion they had ever shared before…

* * *

“Do we knock?” Rick inquired.

Dawn eyed the door speculatively and reached up to rap on it with her knuckles.

A scuffle inside, but no response.

Rick and Dawn exchanged a skeptical look. Dawn knocked again. “We know you’re in there, Ms. Danvers.”

Still no answer.

“All right, that’s it,” Dawn fumed. “Step back,” she instructed Rick.

He watched curiously over the rims of his sunglasses as she took a deep breath. “What are you—?” he began.

A violent kick, and the door shattered on its hinges. Dawn gave Rick an unrepentant grin. “One of the tricks I learned growing up with a Slayer for a sister,” she joked lightly.

He nodded numbly and reminded himself never to get on her bad side. “After you?” he offered, gesturing to the apartment.

Dawn steeled herself up and entered the apartment. “No lights?” she inquired curiously, feeling around for the switch.

Rick found it first. A flick and the room remained dark. “No lights,” he concurred.

“Décor by Spike,” Dawn joked lightly, walking out into the spacious living area. Fortunately, it was still light enough outside that she could see to move. “Ms. Danvers has flown the coup?” she guessed.

Rick turned down the hallway that led back to the rest of the apartment. “If she is not here…” he began. And cried out in alarm…

* * *

Siggy stomped on the pavement, knocking off the layer of snow that had accumulated on the soles of her boots. She rang the bell again pointedly as she waited, spotting a rustle in the curtains this time before the clicks of a door unlocking.

“You are Ms. Collins?” she said in a brisk voice the instant the old woman had opened the door.

“Yes?” Ms. Collins was obviously suspicious given the number of demon hunters that had been to her door in the last two weeks.

“The Haunting is about to escape,” Siggy began matter-of-factly. “We—”

“I said I wanted no part of that!” Ms. Collins insisted, trying to slam the door in Siggy’s face.

The hard rubber toe of Siggy’s boot prevented it from closing. “It is urgent that you assist us,” she continued stubbornly.

Ms. Collins fumbled to get the door shut. “Leave now, or I call the police,” she yelled harshly.

“You may call the police all you want,” Siggy shrugged, “but they will not be able to help you once the Shur-Ashk-Um-Ur-Abi is freed from its prison and lets its powers loose upon this town. Perhaps it will even remember how you locked it away in the first place.”

Ms. Collins’ face had gone white as a sheet. “I-It can’t escape,” she insisted anxiously.

“It is rebuilding its strength,” Siggy countered. “Already it is able to move objects, create illusions. And once it captures a strong enough host—”

“It’ll be free again.” Ms. Collins was visibly shaking again now. “I-I knew it,” she almost pleaded. “I knew the spell we used wasn’t as strong – wasn’t strong enough – but they didn’t listen to me, and…”

“And now they are dead, and if you do not help again, the Haunting will rise even more powerful than before,” Siggy concluded.

“You have a way to stop it?” Ms. Collins asked speculatively.

“We have,” Siggy agreed. “You yourself provided us with the book.”

“That spell requires a full circle capable of reading the Kassite,” Ms. Collins scoffed. “We don’t—”

“We have,” Siggy repeated. “With you as the third, I believe?” she inquired pointedly.

Ms. Collins nodded slowly. “Yes, I can read it but…well, if the host is as strong as you say…”

“The host now is weak,” Siggy countered. “We must finish this before it is too late.”

Ms. Collins’ jaw tightened. “They said that the last time. Do you have any idea how many died?”

“Do you have any idea how many have died so far this time?” Siggy retorted. “Surely, you have read the papers.”

A glum nod.

“You, more than anyone, know how dangerous the Haunting is,” Siggy pleaded. “We have one last chance to stop it. You have a nephew, I believe?” she changed tactics.

“D-David,” Ms. Collins agreed slowly. “Why—?”

“You have fought all your life to separate him from the horror at the lodge,” Siggy concluded. “If the Haunting escapes and he is the next casualty, it will be all for nothing.”

Ms. Collins nodded slowly. “My magic isn’t what it used to be,” she made one final protest.

“It is all we have,” Siggy replied simply.

* * *

With a loud crash, Rick fell across the table, the motion stunning him for the second the waif-like figure needed to race by him.

Dawn saw the slight form streaming by and out the door but ran to Rick instead, calling out in alarm.

“I am fine!” he insisted quickly. “She just caught me off guard. Catch her.”

Dawn ran out the door in response to that and came to a halt in the hallway. Both directions yielded nothing, and she swore inwardly at having lost their quarry.

In the meantime, Rick had extricated himself from the shattered remains of the table and stood beside Dawn in the hallway. “She got a—?” he began to ask.

Dawn cut him off with a hand covering his mouth.

And, just in that moment of silence, they heard the sound of a door swinging shut around the bend of the right corridor.

“The lobby,” Dawn announced, breaking into a run once more. “She’s gone outside.”

Side by side, they rounded the final bend and dashed out the still-swinging door into the winter snow.

“Tracks,” Rick pointed out a series of depressions in the snow.

Dawn grimaced, and they both – without even boots – trudged their way after the old innkeeper. “She’s spry for such an old woman, isn’t she?” Dawn commented.

Rick nodded. “She is headed for the temple,” he decided.

“I’ve come to the same conclusion,” Dawn agreed. “We still have that rope out here?”

Rick shook his head. “Do we have time to go back for one?”

“Who knows what she’s doing down there,” Dawn shot back. “I don’t want to take that risk.”

They both came to a halt when the footprints came to an abrupt end right at the edge of the black hole.

“You can jump that?” Dawn inquired.

Rick nodded, caught her up in his arms, and then the two of them vanished into the black void below…

* * *

Buffy smiled softly. “Tell me more,” she requested.

“’Bout what?” he countered. “’Sides, it’s your turn.”

“It so isn’t,” she shot back. “I just went through the whole horror than was marriage to Ryan.”

He placed a sympathetic kiss on her forehead. “Right then, so what d’you wanna hear?”

Buffy bit her lower lip. “Tell me about the two humans you killed,” she finally pressed.

Spike rolled his eyes. “This ring of déjà vu to you?”

She frowned for a second before his eyes widened with recognition. “You’re not going to make me buy you spicy buffalo wings again, are you?” she teased back.

He smiled, and those little crinkles that so fascinated her formed at the edges of his eyes. “Can at least promise there won’t be any bloody sex parts this time,” he offered in conciliation.

She nodded and propped her head up on one elbow. “It’s all right. Tell me.”

Reluctance ran deep, though. “Why d’you wanna hear about that? ‘S unpleasant and—”

“Because it _is_ unpleasant,” Buffy countered. “Do you have any idea how amazing that is coming from a demon’s mouth? But there’s still… You have still, despite it all, killed three humans and… I guess I can never agree with you, and that’s one of the major differences between us.”

“And we want to dwell on these sorts of things?” he countered, running feather-light touches up and down her arm. “Isn’t it more fun to…?” A soft nibble at her shoulder.

She sighed in satisfaction. “Definitely of the fun,” she agreed. “But we have to face the darker stuff or…” She trailed off apologetically and placed a quick kiss on his lips. “You saw what happened when I closed myself off last time.”

“Hurt so much,” he agreed in a ragged tone. “To be so close, but still so far…”

“Then, don’t let the same thing happen twice,” Buffy pleaded. “I want to know it all this time. And, yeah, I’ll always think I’m right, and you’ll probably always think you’re right, but you know what? I’m starting to think it’s possible for us _both_ to be stubbornly right and for neither of us to really be wrong.”

“Don’t tell me my Slayer is finally startin’ to see some shades of gray in the world,” he teased lightly.

“The whole world’s gray,” she countered, catching his hand and intertwining her fingers with his. “Or maybe it’s color. But, either way… You can tell me, William.”

A soft smile lit up his face at that. As a vampire, he had always despised his human name. But the way she said it… It sounded like music to his ears. “Right then,” he agreed with a sigh. “First time was this woman named Delilah. Had it in mind to use herself as a vessel for the apocalypse and…”

Buffy laid her head back down on the pillow and sighed as she became wrapped up in his usual overblown storytelling technique. The more she learned about this man, the more he seemed like a spellbinding book to her – one of those mysteries where you just couldn’t help yourself from turning the next page. And she realized that she did want to know it all now – the good, the bad, and the ugly – because, in the end, she knew that what she would find was just Spike, and she never wanted to let him go again…


	27. Sweet Release

Rick landed in a crouched position in the direct center of the temple, Dawn still tucked safely in his arms. He rose gracefully to his full height, swinging down Dawn’s feet so that she could stand beside him when suddenly the entire room lit up a fiery red, like a nightmarish vision from Dante’s Inferno.

The eyes of the wooden figurines that surrounded them lit up all in a flash, each shooting crimson rays at the pair trapped in the center of the room.

Dawn and Rick flinched, and…

Nothing happened.

They both opened their eyes to see a wavering green light surrounding the pair of them and protecting them from the enemy’s attack. Both were trapped, immobilized by the powerful energy waves that bombarded them on all sides. It was a standoff, then. The Haunting could not harm them, but they were unable to move to stop it as well.

Realization filled Rick as the observations he’d made earlier fell into place, but Dawn’s eyes widened in stunned surprise, not comprehending what was happening.

“It is the Key within you,” Rick informed her softly. “The Haunting is unable to touch anything within its reach.”

Dawn’s brow furrowed at the shimmering green force surrounding her. It couldn’t be…that after all these years, the Key would finally decide to show itself to her, could it?

“An unfortunate defense we had not prepared for.”

Dawn’s speculations were cut off by the sound of the gravelly voice. She and Rick both managed to turn within the protective force of the Key to face their foe.

Laura Danvers stepped from the shadows, scarlet fire lighting up her eyes and her waxen flesh as if a powerful torch burned within her body. “We tried to dispose of you using the Kayeri,” she went on in the same hateful tone, “but your power surpassed ours.” The rage flashed brighter within her, and it was a wonder her frail body didn’t cave into ashes at the heat of it.

“You are the host,” Rick said simply, concern creeping into his voice at the precarious position they were in. Even with the barrier Dawn was creating, their lives could still be in mortal peril from a physical attack.

Laura Danvers merely rolled her eyes in a manner that much belied her ancient appearance. “Well, _duh_ ,” she agreed. “What took you so long to figure it out…?”

* * *

Buffy awoke first this time, a small smile lighting up her face at her memories of the day so far. It felt like they had spent a lifetime talking that morning, where in actuality it probably hadn’t been much more than a few hours. Spike’s mark on her neck, however – that same mark that was still sending excited, exhilarating tingles through her body – still seemed to be functioning, bringing them the same closeness they had felt when he was inside her. Lifetimes of words could pass between them just with a brush of his knuckles across the scar. It had made talking feel like lovemaking, something she was more than eager to experience again.

Her companion lay on his side, facing her, the blanket pulled up over his head so that only the platinum spikes of his hair peeked from underneath. She felt her heart soften once more at the Spike-shaped lump in the sheets beside her and cautiously pulled the covers back so that she could place a soft kiss on his brow.

He murmured slightly in response, nuzzling into her shoulder and sliding a lazy leg and arm around her, holding her close. A short, broken purr rumbled through his chest before trailing off into a slight snort.

Buffy giggled and pet his hair. Cuddly, kittenish Spike was a rare treat he would never allow while conscious. He didn’t mind a good snuggle, of course – as she was just now finding out – but the Big Bad would never allow him to appear _this_ soft. Especially in front of her. She could almost understand why. Seeing him like this caused deep-seated protective instincts to rise up within her, making her want to do nothing more than keep him safe. It was the sort of attitude that annoyed her to no end when men tried to impose it upon her, so why should Spike be any different?

“Don’t worry,” she whispered softly into his silken hair, “I’ll still treat you like a man when you wake up. Kitten time is reserved solely for when you’re asleep.”

He seemed to hum slightly in agreement at that before the arm flung over her waist tightened and he showed the first signs of stirring.

She watched, fascinated, as he slowly woke up beside her. She’d never seen him awaken before, never had the chance to observe his lithe, lean muscles stretch sensuously, the movements of his body turn from random jerks to the sleek, seductive rhythm of a great feline, his long, curled eyelashes flutter softly against his cheeks before slowly opening. God, he was so beautiful when he woke up…

A lion-sized yawn complete with extended fangs, and Spike blinked confusedly up at her. “’Mornin’, luv,” he murmured, scratching his hair sleepily.

“It’s technically afternoon,” she pointed out, gesturing to the clock.

This seemed to confuse him even more in his half-asleep state, and he blinked at her really slowly before shaking his head and lying back down against the crook of her shoulder, eyes drifting open and closed. “Was s’posed to wake before you,” he commented lazily.

“Oh?” she asked curiously, resting her head on the pillow beside him. “Why’s that?”

“Gotta wake up first, or they can do somethin’ to you in your sleep,” he explained off-handedly as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“Who will?”

“Women.” He batted his hand in the air dismissively.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Paranoid much?” she teased.

“Dru…” he continued, still obviously only semi-conscious, “never a good idea to leave yourself at ‘er mercy for long. And the others… Don’t know them. Could try to stake me in the mornin’ for all I know. Gotta be alert, wary.” He closed his eyes again and let out a little snore.

Buffy couldn’t help but grin. This was the perfect antithesis of Alert-and-Wary!Spike. This was cozy, sleepy, trusting Spike, and something about his faith in her made her love him even more. “My cute, cuddly vamp,” she teased.

One shockingly blue eye opened. “Am not,” he insisted in a petulant tone.

“Ha,” she said triumphantly. “Knew that would wake you up.”

He groaned and yawned again before rising up on his powerful forearms and doing the sexiest full-body stretch she’d ever seen. At that moment, she was eternally grateful that she’d ripped his shirt right off of him the night before because stretching Spike-chest was truly a sight to behold.

“We s’posed to be doin’ something?” he asked, looking down at her. “Where’s my Bit and the others?”

* * *

“You are one fucked up freak,” Dawn informed Laura Danvers, still trapped within the crimson energy barrier that held her and Rick…

* * *

“Mih, they’re all off doing boring research-y stuff,” Buffy informed him of Dawn’s (failed) plans for the day. “They don’t need us.”

A sly, seductive grin lit up his face. “Was hopin’ you’d say that,” he practically purred.

 _Wow, from asleep to sexy in less than a minute._ Buffy melted into his kiss, parting her lips at the persistence of his tongue and holding him tightly down to her, trying to drink in his essence. God, he tasted so good. And how exactly could he taste so good when he’d spent the morning drinking her blood and then snacking on pretzels? It was one of the great mysteries of the universe, but Spike always had an intoxicating, rich flavor to her. Like sweet rum candy. Her tongue plunged eagerly into his own mouth to taste more of him.

He moaned above her and shifted his hips so that his growing erection wasn’t tempted by her writhing limbs. This had just been a kiss at first, but… He didn’t think he’d ever wanted a woman more than he wanted Buffy right now.

“Buffy-luv?” he gasped, pulling away from her fire for an instant to rest his forehead against hers.

“Yeah?” she panted out as well, completely breathless from the intensity of their kiss.

“This is nice, right?” he began. “Just bein’ together, talkin’?”

She held in her frustrated sigh. “Yeah,” she agreed with a soft smile.

“Feel the same way,” he nodded slowly. “But don’t s’pose you’d want somethin’ more?” he asked hopefully.

Buffy groaned aloud and yanked him back down to her in a searing kiss. “Thought you’d never ask,” she breathed against his lips before devouring him.

Their bodies came together with newfound desire at the tacit agreement they had reached, Spike’s hardness grinding down into her as Buffy’s thighs spread to accommodate him.

“Why’re you wearin’ so many clothes?” he complained, fingers fumbling for the hem of her tank top and pulling it slowly up, exposing her tanned body to his hungry mouth.

“Obviously because you’ve been negligent,” she shot right back, arching her back and raising her arms so that the offending garment could go away before crying out at the skill of his talented mouth and collapsing back onto the bed.

A low growl escaped his throat, sending sensual vibrations right into the taut muscles of her stomach. “Never leave my woman wantin’,” he insisted gruffly.

She smiled down at him and slipped her legs around his body. “Yeah, well, your woman’s been waiting for you to make love to her for seven lonely years now,” she confessed softly.

A scarred eyebrow quirked. “That long?” he inquired, moving to hover over her once more.

She nodded sheepishly. “I loved you, you know,” she admitted, reaching up to trace the razor’s edge of one cheekbone. “Even back then. I was just…” She bit back tears at the memory. “I was in so much pain, and I felt so _wrong_. I wanted to hurt myself, baby.”

His arms were wrapped tight around her, softly accented words of comfort whispered into her hair.

Buffy held on tight, but at the same time felt that she should be the one _giving_ comfort, not receiving it after what had transpired between them. “I hated myself that year,” she said in a raw voice. “And to punish myself…” she clutched him tighter, “I drove away everything I loved.”

“Shh…” he cooed softly. “’S all right now, luv. ‘m here.”

Buffy smiled against the cool ivory skin of his throat. “Yeah,” she agreed lazily, “you are. It was just scraps of you for so long, you know. I-I have this little tin box with all my memories of you, and…god, you have to think I’m a complete loser,” she groaned before burying her head in his shoulder.

He chuckled at that. “I see the intervenin’ years haven’t changed your over-dramatic tendencies,” he teased.

She swatted at him ineffectively. “Jerk-off,” she grumbled.

He thrust his hardness into her thigh. “Please do,” he countered.

She gasped in indignation at the comment before her eyes widened and a delight smile lit up her face. “Ooh! You just made an annoying innuendo!” she exclaimed excitedly, crashing her lips to his with bruising intensity.

Spike shrugged and let her throw him over onto his back so that she could straddle his middle while plundering his mouth more effectively. His hands drifted lazily to the fly of her jeans, determined in their mission now and slowly pulled the zipper down before slipping around back to cup her ass and push the obstructing fabric down her lean hips.

“Never used to get this excited at my comments,” he pointed out with a gasp when her kisses began trailing down the muscled planes of his chest, her tongue pausing over every nerve that made him writhe beneath her.

“No innuendo for so long,” she retorted between nibbles at one dusty male nipple. “Going through withdrawal.”

He chuckled at that and then let out a low moan at the feel of her hot, wet mouth on his cool flesh. Bloody hell, how did this woman know exactly where to bite and lick to send him teetering dangerously on the edge?

“B-Buffy?” he began clenching his teeth as her tongue dipped into his navel in the sexiest way imaginable.

“Hmm?” she murmured, savoring the salty taste of Spike on her tongue.

“Got other places that could use that tongue…” he informed her with a leer.

The grin on Buffy’s face widened. “Arrogant vampire,” she accused.

He rolled his hips up into her in response. “You know you want it, baby,” he teased.

Her eyes narrowed at that, and she pounced, her lips effectively shutting up his own naughty ones. _Mmm, naughty Spike lips…_ Her own hand slipped between them now, seeking out the hardness that pressed into her stomach. She cupped him through the black denim roughly, eliciting a thrilling growl, before her fingertips ran teasingly up and down the zipper until he was moaning and begging beneath her.

“Christ, luv!” he hissed in a needy whisper. Buffy promptly decided it was the most wonderful thing she’d heard _ever_. “I-I…”

“Who wants it now?” she teased, leaning down over him so her long, blond locks curtained his face and giving him an unrepentant and very naughty smile.

He growled at that, and before she knew what was happening, she was being wrestled beneath him once more. They struggled and fought and rolled around on the mattress together, each kicking off clothing as they went and laughing.

Spike managed to catch the clasp of her bra between his teeth and deftly unfastened it with his skilled tongue, causing Buffy to gulp, eyes wide, at the dexterity of the muscle. And then a wicked smile lit up her face, and she tackled him once again, demonstrating the skill of her teeth on his zipper. He lay thrashing in ecstasy beneath her, still marveling at the way she was acting. Sure, they both got off on a good tussle before the main event, but never had she allowed it to be like this before – fun, playful, loving…

A lazy smile lit up Buffy’s face at the long, hard length before her eyes. With a coquettish little smile, she leaned carefully forward and her tongue flicked out just to catch the creamy white drop of precum at the very tip of him. He squirmed at the ephemeral contact, hips rocking desperately in her grasp for more, but she denied him.

“Yummy Spike,” she announced proudly.

His eyes narrowed when it became clear that she was going to leave him hanging…metaphorically speaking, of course. He wasn’t doing much hanging at all at the moment. In fact, he was almost painfully erect. “Naughty Slayer,” he growled back.

She practically preened on top of him, running the tips of her fingers over the ripples in his stomach muscles. “Whatcha gonna do about it?” she inquired mock-innocently.

The struggle ensued anew, limbs intertwining and hands caressing, their motions sending the headboard rocking dangerously as it banged against the wall. Ah, yes, the mating rituals of a Slayer and her Vampire were hell on the furniture.

Spike finally managed to latch his mouth right over his bite mark on her throat and sucked on the sensitive flesh there hard, making her whimper and causing her bones to turn to jelly, leaving her limp and willing beneath him. His body moved over to cover hers completely, trapping her beneath cool muscle and flesh. His hips moved with easy, lazy precision between her spread thighs, the first feel of wetness against his aching cock nearly making him lose it.

“God, Buffy!” he moaned into her throat, blunt teeth still latching onto the scar there.

“Spike…” she whimpered softly, feeling his pleasure as her own through the link between them. God, she’d never known it could be like this before – light and fun, yet tender and full of emotion at the same time. She’d always seen Spike’s (and her own) desire for rougher foreplay as something warped before, but now… It was a celebration of their equality, each yielding and giving because they respected the other and enjoyed the realization that they were absolutely perfectly mated… “Can you bite me?” she whispered hopefully.

“Don’t wanna risk it, luv,” he murmured apologetically against her. “You’ve already lost enough blood today.” He kissed each of the twin red marks that adorned her throat.

Buffy sighed in disappointed understanding.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t know other ways of pleasurin’ you,” he pointed out with a hint of the old cockiness in his voice.

She looked up at him, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. “I seem to remember that,” she agreed, cupping his cheek in one palm. “It was one of the reasons I fell in love with you.”

His eyelids fluttered shut, and he caught her hands in his, guiding them up above her head on the pillow where their fingers could intertwine while he held his weight off of her body. “Tell me,” he pleaded softly, back to his more insecure self in mere moments.

Buffy’s legs slid lazily up his thighs. “While you’re inside me,” she promised.

He gulped at that before finally daring to line himself up with her slick passage. “Love you,” he whispered down to her before he thrust in hard.

Buffy cried aloud as the massive invasion stretched her walls as far as they would go, filling her and completing her. “You feel so good,” she hissed, grinding her pelvis against his for his second thrust.

This time he made it in all the way to the hilt and froze within her, savoring the searing wet velvet that hugged him like a second skin. God, he had forgotten that her body was heaven… “T-Tell me you love me,” he pleaded raggedly, still forcing himself to remain still inside her.

“I love you, Spike,” she gasped out eagerly, arching her body upwards into him so that her breasts pressed flat against his chest.

“God, I love you, too,” he whispered back, slowly rolling his hips and beginning a series of fluid pushes in and out of her tight heat.

“I-I love you so much,” she agreed. “I think it started… It started the morning when…god, when I saw what Glory had done to you, and you still hadn’t given Dawn away…” She trailed off as a particularly deep thrust struck right at her core.

“B-Before you died?” He barely dared hope.

She nodded vigorously and pulled his lips back to her throat, begging for the additional connection to him, needing to see inside him, all of him… Just because he could see her thoughts didn’t mean the words weren’t still sweet, though. “I saw for the…oh god…first time how…yes!… _beautiful_ you were,” she cried out between the powerful motions of his hips. “I-I knew that…” She trailed off, unable to even find the words to describe the amazing man within her.

His mouth remained latched to her neck, however, and he felt all her memories as they set her off. The way she’d savored the taste of his lips after that first, brief kiss. The way she had softened at how tender and affectionate he was with Dawn when he thought no one was looking. The absolute worship and adoration in his eyes when she’d invited him back into her home, like she’d just given him the world. God, how could her heart not melt once she started to see the man buried deep within him?

Tears blinded him as he strove to stroke deeper within her womb, the delicate slit at the tip of his cock pressing repeatedly into the nerve cluster within her, desperate to give her every bit of pleasure he could. God, he’d only dared dream. All these years, he had believed it all a lie, but it was true now, and…

Memories of Spike’s own first steps down love’s lane filled Buffy’s consciousness. That futile attempt to get the chip out and the desperate attack on her, the need to get inside her, get _close_. That first dream where his usual testosterone-induced dreams had finally given way to real, frightening emotions. Images of her – proud, confident, and strong – standing against the demon world and seeming to mock him with what he could never have. The tears that stained her cheeks the night that she sat weeping on the porch at her mother’s sickness, and the feeling of _belonging_ that he felt when she let him comfort her…

The balls of her feet slid up the cool muscles of his ass, giving him better leverage and letting him deeper inside her. She felt like she was burning alive at the heat generated between them. Her sweat coated his own body now, letting them slide together fluidly, and all she wanted to do was pull him closer – give him all her heat and receive the welcome cool he offered. Her fingers clutched his tightly, savoring every part of their union, branding this moment into her mind forever.

“S-Spike?” her shaky voice gasped out.

“Buffy,” he murmured back, his jaw tensed from the effort it required to keep from exploding inside her molten inferno. He broke back from her throat for a moment, looking her right in the eye.

“I-I love you so much,” she whispered in a pleading tone, begging him to understand the truth of her words.

That same awed look she’d first fallen in love with filled his eyes, and it was all she needed to come with a scream of his name. It felt as though the world had melted away to ecstasy, and the only real thing left to her was the body above her and those amazing blue eyes that looked down upon her like she was _everything_ …

Spike’s body froze and his eyes widened as he balanced precariously on the brink of paradise for an instant. Then, everything came tumbling down, the strangling number her internal muscles were doing on his cock too powerful to resist.

His semen flooded her womb, its coolness a relief to the aching fire that burned inside her, and she cried out at the sudden contrast. For one moment, she felt a pain deep in her heart that his seed could never grow within her, but then the pleasure was everything, and nothing had ever been more perfect than this moment.

Spike sank into her body with his climax, planting kisses everywhere he could, babbling out frenzied promises of love and devotion, interspersed with her name. God, never, never… Was this what lovemaking felt like?

 _Never, never so good…_ For a moment their thoughts were as one, and then they fell back to earth together, a mass of tangled, sweaty limbs. One gentle meeting of their lips, and they both drifted off into a deep, rich slumber…

* * *

“What is she doing?” Dawn asked, concerned, as the cadence of the alien words Laura Danvers murmured under her breath rose.

“Whatever it is,” Rick grimaced, “I am willing to bet that it is nothing good.”

Suddenly, a scream erupted from their captor, and a burst of red light shot from her mouth. The blinding flash caused both Rick and Dawn to cover their eyes, and when they opened them again, the light was gone.

Laura Danvers rose shakily back to her feet, the red light around her body diminished now, as if much of it had left her. “Soon, now,” she croaked with wicked glee, “we will have a host powerful enough to break us free from this prison.” She held up her spider-like hands in front of her face in disgust. “We will be free of this decrepit, rotting, _weak_ flesh.” A yellow-toothed grin was flashed Dawn and Rick’s way. “And _nothing_ will be able to stop our feast…”


	28. Seeing Red

“Seriously, though,” Dawn said with an annoyed roll of her eyes. Her captor’s megalomania was starting to grate on her nerves. “You know you’re gonna die, right?”

“This vessel’s life is irrelevant,” the otherworldly voice hissed from Laura Danvers’ mouth.

“Not just the vessel,” Dawn retorted confidently. “You. The glowy, assholic Shur-Askh-whatever. You’re dead.”

A peel of deranged laughter escaped the old woman’s lips. “You’re going to wave a magic wand and banish me again, I suppose?” she countered sarcastically.

Dawn’s eyes narrowed. “We’ve got the spell. You’re not leaving this inn alive.”

Laura Danvers’ brow furrowed at this. “That _filthy_ book,” she shuddered. “I’d thought I was through with it when I burned it.” A wicked smile curled at the edges of her lips. “Although it was fun watching you all accuse each other of stealing it. Honestly, it never once occurred to you that I have the master keys for the entire lodge?”

Dawn managed to flash Rick an apologetic smile. He merely nodded.

“A pity you two didn’t kill each other over it, though,” Laura Danvers continued with a wistful sigh. “But I suppose it won’t matter much longer,” she added disinterestedly.

Dawn and Rick exchanged a nervous look. They hadn’t expected their foe to just roll over and play dead, but they’d thought she’d at least be concerned about the spell that would be cast to destroy the Haunting.

Laura Danvers snickered at their reaction. “Don’t you know?” she teased maliciously. “Your little spell will come too late. Why, already I can feel my new host preparing…” She closed her eyes for a second and breathed in deeply. “Such power. We had tasted it before, but… Yes, this vessel is strong. Not even the magic of the Kassite priests will be able to pull it from our clutches.” An almost awestruck smile lit up her face as her eyes opened once more. “It is begun,” she announced in delight, “and rivers of blood will soon flow in our wake…”

* * *

Spike woke up with a little sigh, a smile curling the edges of his lips as he turned to face the woman beside him. A slight frown marred his brow when he felt the bed next to him and found it empty. One startlingly blue eye opened to search the room for his love.

The answer presented itself to him in the sound of the shower running in the bathroom. A leer curved the edges of his lips as he imagined his Slayer, naked skin flushed and wet hair clinging to her round breasts like a nymph as the hot water caressed her flesh. The image alone had him immediately hard, and he debated the pros and cons of joining her in the shower.

The number one pro, of course, was having a naked, wet, slippery, writhing Buffy in his arms that he could do all sorts of wicked things to. The number one con was having to leave this warm bed that still smelled of her sweet perfume and the heady aroma of their lovemaking. A moment’s hesitation and several deep, unnecessary breaths of air led him to his decision. He pulled Buffy’s pillow over to him and curled around it, savoring the lingering warmth in the linen. He wasn’t going to sacrifice this comfortable-and-warm-in-bed time for the world; plus, his naked Slayer would return to him any minute.

He closed his eyes once more and smiled when he heard something drop on the porcelain and Buffy’s muffled curse. However, he remained confident that she could take on the slippery soap all on her own.

He listened with growing anticipation – in more ways than one – as the shower shut off and Buffy’s bare feet could be heard padding around in bathroom, obviously doing all sorts of girly things that were completely alien to him. He rolled over onto his side and propped his head up on one elbow so that he could see the bathroom door clearly.

Dozens of innuendoes and clever remarks ran through his head about what to say to her when she emerged, all to be just as quickly discarded. He’d never had a really morning after with Buffy, and as a result his current circumstances were leaving him a bit giddy.

Before he’d managed to come to any decision about what to say or do, the question became moot because Buffy emerged from the steam of the bathroom, hair wrapped in one of the hotel’s white towels and body encased in a fuzzy blue bathrobe.

His brief disappointment that she hadn’t appeared to him naked like Venus rising from the sea – no, more like the deadly huntress Diana, and really where was all this poncy poetry stuff coming from anyway? – faded at her beauty. God, this woman looked sexy no matter what she wore. She could have a canvas sack on, and he’d been just as aroused as he was by the sight of her perfect nude body. He was rapidly remembering just how out of control being in love could make him, but he didn’t have to be afraid this time because finally his Slayer loved him back…

“Come back to bed, luv,” he purred softly, caressing the empty spot on the mattress beside him and letting out a colossal yawn.

She pulled the towel from her hair, using it to rub the blond locks dry, and shook her head at him. “We’ve got work to do, remember? Haunting?”

He groaned. “Can wait another hour…or day,” he added enticingly. “Now, c’mon.” He patted the mattress matter-of-factly as if he just expected her to jump in bed beside him.

“I just finished my shower,” she protested, “and you’re all sticky and sweaty.”

“Seem to remember you makin’ me that way,” he agreed with a thrust of hips. “But if ‘s a problem, we’ll just hafta take a shower together afterwards.”

Buffy merely rolled her eyes at what was fast becoming an endless stream of innuendoes and moved to get dressed. “God, I should’ve known you’d be like this,” she muttered to herself, finding a clean pair of blue jeans in her bag and pulling them on.

A small crease furrowed his brow. “Like what?” he demanded.

“All…cocky and arrogant,” she explained, waving one hand in his direction dismissively. “Not to mention completely obsessed with sex.”

“I just thought…” he gasped out in protest, baffled at the way this conversation seemed to be turning. He heard the neediness in his own voice then and fought for control of himself, letting the Big Bad image slip neatly into place. “Don’t recall you complainin’ about my talents earlier,” he countered with a lascivious smirk.

Buffy rolled her eyes. “God’s gift much?”

“God’s got nothin’ to do with it,” he retorted with narrowed eyes.

She shrugged and ducked back into the bathroom with the rest of her clothes, shutting the door behind her.

Spike groaned, facing the grim fact that he wasn’t going to get the Slayer again after all. His erection was still throbbing uncomfortably, and he hated the thought that he’d have to resort to wanking off to relieve himself. Even more disturbing was how cold Buffy seemed to be acting towards him now. He’d had the brief notion that things between them would always be like that morning. He’d _felt_ her love and desire for him through their union, and he’d just assumed…

“Maybe the chit just always _is_ grumpy the mornin’ after,” he muttered to himself as he flopped back down onto the bed. The mattress bounced a couple of times, and the headboard wavered precariously. Maybe it was a good idea to leave this bed be; one of their old marathon sessions, and it would undoubtedly break in two. Actually, it was a theory Spike wanted to test…

With a determined sigh, he sat up and got to his feet, stretching his lean body as sensuously as a giant cat. Yawn thoroughly out of the way and mind made up, he padded over to the bathroom and slipped inside.

Buffy had her back to him, focusing intently on the mirror as she applied her lipstick. Grin widening at the opportunity given him, he snuck right up behind her before slipping his arms around her waist and burying his nose in her still-damp hair.

Buffy squealed in surprise, realizing only belatedly why she hadn’t seen the intruder in the mirror. She squirmed against him for an instant before pushing his arms aside and spinning around to face him, annoyed. “Are you still here?” she demanded angrily.

The grin of Spike’s face faded. “Don’t be mad, pet,” he soothed. “Just got lonely out there, and—”

“And what? Decided to bother me in your free time?” She ran her brush through her hair before pushing by him to escape the close confines of the bathroom.

Spike felt the anger begin to build up within himself at that. “Oi now,” he practically growled, catching her arm roughly and turning her back to face him, “we don’t play like that anymore.”

She blinked up at him deliberately. “Right,” she agreed, shaking him off, “we don’t play at all.”

“Buffy, what’s wrong?” he demanded, half furious at the distance she was putting up between them and half desperate to find out what he’d done wrong and make it right again.

She let out a bark of laughter at that. “‘Wrong’?” she repeated in disbelief. “You honestly want me to answer that… You really do like being hit when you’re down, don’t you?” she retorted nastily.

A gasp of outrage escaped his lips at her implication. “You said we—” he began.

She looked at him like he was a complete idiot. “And you actually _believed_ all that?” she retorted incredulously. “Look, I had fun and everything, but—”

“ _Fun_?” Spike’s eyes flashed yellow with pain and anger. “You don’t watch yourself, _Slayer_ ,” he hissed out the title, “and ‘ll…”

“You’ll what?” she retorted. “Scold me?”

“’m not your neutered puppy-dog anymore,” he insisted vehemently.

“No,” she agreed with a nasty grin, “and it’s horribly inconvenient. You were easier before, you know. You’re almost not worth the effort anymore.”

He caught her to him at that, shaking her roughly, hoping beyond all hope that the woman who had whispered sweet words of love to him mere hours ago would return to her senses. “You love me.” He tried to sound confident, but his voice wavered, insecurity slipping through.

Buffy merely laughed. “You honestly think I could _ever_ love a soulless vampire?” she retorted incredulously. “You’re nothing to me, William. Just a pretty body to satisfy my urges. I could _never_ love you.”

He could feel his world shattering around him again, a desperate whimper in his voice. “W-We made love…”

“We fucked,” she countered, shoving his hands away from her and stepping back. “C’mon, you had to know it was all an act. You’ve always been my cheap whore. A convenient replacement ever since Angel left. Only now the price I have to pay for your services is a few pretty words and some well-placed lies. You should be grateful you got at least that much.”

“No.” It was a whispered plea, as close to begging as he had ever gotten. This was every nightmare he’d ever had magnified a thousand-fold. He kept hoping in vain that he would wake up, but the pain was too great for this to still be a dream.

“God, you’re pathetic,” Buffy exclaimed in exasperation. “If you weren’t such a good lay, I wouldn’t even put up with you.” She pushed past him and headed for the door. “Now, _I’ve_ got a monster to go kill. Lucky for you it’s not you. You should be glad I’ve found a better use for you.” She picked up a stake from the dresser and eyed him evilly before slipping it into the waistband of her pants and leaving the room, the door slamming shut with an extra sashay of her hips.

“B-Buffy?” Spike managed the one last word before he finally broke down in the middle of the room, naked, alone, and shivering uncontrollably with the cold…

* * *

“I never realized before just how frail the human body was,” the being within Laura Danvers commented casually, turning her wrinkled old hand before her and studying like it were some sort of strange and grotesque artifact. “And this mortal…” She tisked. “Her life withered away in a matter of years. She was weak, worthless.”

“Yeah, well humans have a nasty tendency of dying when you slowly poison them from within,” Dawn retorted sarcastically, her helplessness to do anything in this situation making her irritable. “It’s one of those unfortunate side-effects of being mortal and all.”

“Hmm, yes,” Haunting/Danvers agreed disinterestedly. “Did you know that until seven years ago we weren’t even aware that we could feed from demons? Your vampire friend showed us just how wrong we were… We had never imagined just how revitalizing a demon’s despair could be.”

A shiver of worry ran through Dawn’s body at that. “You leave him alone,” she snapped angrily. God, Spike was emotionally fragile enough as it was. If this _thing_ had… She shook off the thought; it was too horrible to contemplate.

“But we need him,” Haunting/Danvers’ cackle echoed through the room. “Don’t you see? He is perfect for us. A host vessel that will not decay, that cannot age. Through him, we will remain strong forever.”

“You can’t have him!” Dawn was white-eyed with panic now. With all her strength, she tried to step forward, outside of the barrier of the Key that protected them. It felt as though she were trying to move through thick molasses, though, and her limbs wouldn’t obey.

“Do not let her get to you,” Rick’s soothing voice murmured in her ear, and he managed to move his hand enough to rest it comfortingly on her shoulder. “Spike knows how to defend against possession.”

Dawn tried to reassure herself with that thought.

Haunting/Danvers merely chided them softly. “What do you think we’ve been doing, children?” she inquired condescendingly. “All those deaths…powerful, painful deaths. We are strong now, no longer reduced to playing the weak, starving spook. And our power is beyond anything your vampire or his little Slayer can even _begin_ to fight against.” The red glow intensified around her eyes for a second, and a victorious smile lit up her lips. “And right about now, our new host is shattered, ready to welcome us with open arms…”

* * *

 _Bloody bitches. They always use you. They lie to you, and they fuck you, and they beat you, but they never love you. No one ever loves you._

The thought, inspired by pure rage, shot through Spike’s head as he still lay collapsed on the floor of his love’s room, fighting back the waves of agony that overcame him.

 _You are strong_ , the voice within insisted. _Stop crying and wallowing in your misery like a weakling, and be the demon you were meant to be._

The last line he practically knew by heart. He was the Big Bad. He didn’t cry over a Slayer’s rejection. He didn’t let himself feel pain. And he didn’t let himself feel love. Not anymore.

 _That’s right_ , the inner voice sounded delighted at this turn of thought. _You never loved the bitch. You just wanted to show her up for the way she treated you before. Got her to let you take a good, long poke – with both fangs and cock._

“B-Bitch…” The word was the first to have escaped his lips since he had broken down into sobbing despair.

 _Thinks she’s better than you, too. All high and mighty. Thinks you’re domesticated, that she can just have her fun with you and toss you aside. But we know better, don’t we? We’ll show her who the whore is…_

The strength the voice offered him was so tempting – a rejection of all his pain and the means to seek revenge. It had all been so much easier when his life had been like this. He was a vampire. He took whatever he wanted, and if anything didn’t go his way, he just left a trail of death and destruction in his wake.

 _Yes, blood_ , the voice agreed eagerly. _Blood will sustain us all. And then all these foolish mortals will pay for their arrogance…_

“What do you want me to do?” Spike’s voice sounded hollow in the motel room, like it echoed out into infinity.

 _We will help you,_ the voice insisted. _You will be your own man – your own DEMON – once more. You will be free from that little bitch and all the pain she’s forced upon you._

“I—”

 _You hate her_ , the voice countered the thought even as it tried to form in his mind. _You will make her suffer for what she has done to you. You’ll make her pay, and at the same time you’ll finally bag your third Slayer._

Images flashed through Spike’s mind. Blood red images of him inflicting excruciating pain on Buffy to repay her for every moment of suffering she’d ever given to him. Somewhere deep inside, it sickened him that such images were so enticing, so alluring, but that voice…

 _You are angry, as well you should be. Show that insignificant little girl what a vampire’s rage is all about. Give in to the bloodlust. It’s so easy…_

The voice was right. It was easy. So very easy. Spike’s eyes glowed a deep gold as his demon’s rage fully took over him, and he rose to his feet with a snarl. He grabbed for his clothes and pulled them back on, all while his sensitized nose traced down the sweet scent of his next prey.

And if the red rage that lined his sight actually existed in physical reality, he paid it no heed. Furious, violent, and deadly, he emerged from the bedroom, and the fiery glow of the Haunting trailed behind, unconcealed glee shimmering in the light that surrounded it as it followed its latest pawn to his ultimate destiny…

* * *

With a gasp, Buffy collapsed to a heap in the hallway, tears streaming down her face as she realized that she finally controlled her body once more. Her entire body shook with sobs of relief and despair before she finally ventured to look up.

Oh god, she really _was_ out in the hotel somewhere, in an abandoned hallway. She shakily rose to her feet, hoping beyond hope that it had all been a dream, just another of the nightmares that had plagued her since she’d arrived at this vile place. Maybe she’d just been sleepwalking the entire time, and the Haunting hadn’t…

She couldn’t even bear to think of what that _thing_ had said while it controlled her body. She’d woken up happily enough in the arms of the man she loved. But she’d only managed to get in a few gentle kisses to his sleeping brow when a strange doubt had started to take over her. Whispered words at first, telling her that he was a killer and not to be trusted. That, like all the others, he’d turn against her, and she’d have to break her heart once more to destroy him.

They’d only been a minor buzzing at first, but then they’d grown and grown and before she’d known it she was trapped within her own mind, helpless against the fears and insecurities that had taken over her. It wasn’t until then that she’d truly realized that it had been the Haunting all along. If nothing else, it at least knew how to sneak up on its victims, making them believe that the dark thoughts were their own until it was too late and the insidious creature had taken them over.

And, god, that was exactly what it had done to Spike. If the Haunting had turned nasty too fast, maybe Spike would’ve caught on, but it had played its part perfectly, whittling away at the fragile relationship they’d built and…

She had to get to him, fast before it was too late. Filled with her sudden purpose, Buffy ran back to her room, hoping against all odds that she’d still find Spike there so that she could plead with him to listen to her, to hear the truth…

But the room was empty. And a horrible dread filled Buffy. Because there was no doubt in her mind that the Haunting was destroying her love’s mind at that moment…

* * *

With a screech of tires, the beat-up old Chevy came to an abrupt halt in the parking lot of the Cascade Mountain Lodge. The two women within froze for a minute at the sight before them before slowly daring to exit the vehicle.

“W-What…?” Siggy began, stunned speechless by the sight before her.

The building before her ebbed and flowed with an eerie red light, almost as if thousands of red firecrackers were illuminating it from behind. The very woodwork itself seemed to pulse and throb with the light, making the building appear like a living thing, the slow beating of an inhuman diseased heart.

“What is happening?” Siggy asked in an uncharacteristically meek voice, for the first time fearing that maybe they had bit off more than they could chew.

“Goddess,” Eustacia Collins prayed futily. The elderly woman shook visibly.

Siggy quickly caught hold of her companion’s deceptively frail form.

“It’s happening again,” Eustacia Collins whispered in a frightened voice, “just like fifty years ago. May the Goddess save us all…”


	29. In the Beginning...

“We have to try the spell immediately,” Eustacia Collins murmured, still shaken at the repetition of the nightmare from half a century before.

“We need to get Dawn,” Siggy agreed. The red light that glowed from the lodge didn’t look like a good sign to her, either.

Eustacia Collins merely nodded, and together the two women bravely approached the building, surrounded by its eerie light. “There’s a light in the yard as well,” the elderly woman commented.

Siggy glanced in the direction she was pointing to see a red illuminated square in the center of the lawn. “The temple,” she murmured to herself. “We must see what is happening.”

“We’re going in there?!” Mr. Collins repeated in alarm when Siggy began trudging through the snow.

“I just need to see—” Siggy’s voice cut off abruptly when she reached the edge of the hole and saw what lay beneath. “Dawn!” she cried out in alarm.

Dawn and Rick looked up in surprise at the voice to see Siggy peering down at them. “Don’t come down!” Dawn shouted back in immediate alarm.

Siggy frowned at the green light that surrounded Rick and Dawn, protecting them from the battering red force. “What is happening?” she asked in alarm.

“Cast your spell!” Rick shouted back. “There is little time. We are safe for the moment.”

“We need Dawn’s help,” Siggy pointed out.

Dawn frowned at that. “I’m trapped down here,” she insisted. “Do it without me.”

Siggy moved to complain, but then bit her lip. She doubted Dawn would be exaggerating in such dire circumstances. “I will find a way,” she promised before running off again.

“What was that all about?” Eustacia Collins demanded.

“We must hurry,” Siggy insisted. “Do you think that the two of us can handle this spell by ourselves?”

Ms. Collins shook her head ruefully. “Not a chance,” she insisted vehemently.

“Then, perhaps Buffy or Spike will be well enough to help,” Siggy countered, dashing through the crimson-lit glass doors of the lobby, the older woman struggling to keep her in sight.

When she reached the bedroom that had housed the bleached pair, however, she found it completely empty. One look at the bed and a quick whiff of the distinctive smell were all it took to figure out exactly what the Vampire and Slayer had been doing that afternoon.

“Buffy?” Siggy called out hesitantly. “Spike?”

Eustacia Collins arrived at just that moment and quickly came to the same conclusion Siggy had. She shook her head sadly. “They will not come,” she explained softly.

Siggy turned to look at her, confused.

“It is the Shur-Ashk-Um-Ur-Abi’s favorite ploy,” Ms. Collins clarified. “It chooses young lovers as its prey and then turns them against each other. Your friends are probably off killing each other as we speak. If nothing else, they will remain tormented for life until they finally end their existences. It is our foe’s way.”

“We have to explain that to them,” Siggy insisted. She brushed by the old witch and looked helplessly down the hall both ways, desperately trying to determine where Buffy and Spike could have gone.

A heavy hand came to rest on her shoulder. “There is no reasoning with them now,” Ms. Collins insisted softly. “They are under that monster’s control, trapped within their pain and grief. If you attempt to interfere, they will merely kill you in their attempts to destroy each other.”

Siggy opened her mouth to protest.

“I have seen this all before,” Ms. Collins reminded her apologetically.

Tears formed at the corners of Siggy’s eyes. “We can’t do anything to help them?” she pleaded.

“We can attempt to destroy the source of their misery,” the old woman reminded her. “It may save their lives, if not their hearts.”

Siggy nodded numbly. “But we have no one else to—” She cut off abruptly. “Unless…”

“What?” Eustacia Collins frowned confusedly at the look on Siggy’s face.

“Perhaps we have one last ally that can offer us hope,” Siggy began. “If only we can reach her…”

* * *

Danvers/Haunting chuckled as her two captives turned back to face her, new hope shining in their eyes. “You think the spell will save you?” she shook her head chidingly. “Your friends are insignificant to us. They cannot hurt us now.”

“A little overconfident, are we?” Dawn retorted. “That spell will send you back off to the oblivion you came from.”

Red-hot anger flashed in the old woman’s eyes for an instant. “We will never go back!” she hissed. “That emptiness, the _nothingness_ …” She seemed to shake visibly at the thought. “We are free now, free forever.”

“You see,” Dawn continued to taunt their captor, “the way I see it, you’re stretched pretty thin right about now. You’re here, holding us prisoner and doing the crazed villain thing. And, at the same time, you’re trying to screw Buffy and Spike over. And I’ll bet all this red glowy special effect stuff takes up a lot of energy, too. So, I’m thinking that you don’t have the strength to keep it all up _and_ stop Siggy from casting that spell. That means that even if you do succeed in everything else, you’re _still_ going back to that nothingness. Which means we will still win.”

“Which means shut up already,” Rick felt obliged to add, the older woman’s ravings starting to get on his nerves.

A disturbingly low laugh erupted from Laura Danvers’ lips. “You believe that, do you? You truly don’t see the genius of our plan…”

“What—?” Dawn began.

“We’ve had _years_ to reflect upon this problem, little girl,” she/they retorted with a hiss. “Years to plan our comeback, our immortality. Did you honestly think we’d leave such an obvious flaw in our plans?”

“You will be destroyed,” Rick retorted vehemently.

“You see, that’s where you’re wrong.” Danvers/Haunting hopped on top of one of the statues that surrounded the temple with a spryness that belied her elderly appearance. She leaned back against the massive wooden head of the creature, her thin, bony limbs looking eerily spider-like in the red light that illuminated the room. “See, we don’t even _need_ to worry about your little spell.”

“We have it right this time,” Dawn insisted. “No more half-destructions.”

Danvers/Haunting laughed. “You can cast that spell twelve ways from next Tuesday for all we care. It won’t do any of you a bit of good.”

Dawn and Rick both frowned. Either the creature before them was trying to cause them to lose hope, or there was something they hadn’t accounted for.

“And they still don’t see it,” Danvers/Haunting murmured to themselves. “Mortals have such simple minds…” She turned to look at them once more. “Here, we’ll give you a hint: Think of some special talents vampires have.”

“Just spit it out,” Dawn retorted with a roll of her eyes.

Danvers/Haunting looked put out that her prey wouldn’t play her little game. “We’re very disappointed in you,” she huffed slightly. “We’d figure that after working with a vampire for all these years, the answer would be obvious to you. A little intelligent competition would be nice, you know?”

“This is no game,” Rick hissed back, his own eyes glowing red in helpless rage.

“We suppose to you silly creatures it isn’t,” Danvers/Haunting agreed, looking bored now. “How’s this, then? The vampire mind is immune to all invasive telepathic magic. Is that clear enough for you?”

Dawn frowned, remembering incidents from the past – Buffy’s casual mention that during her brief telepathic stint that she couldn’t read Angel’s mind, Spike’s immunity to Glory’s memory tricks, Willow’s odd comments that when she tried to communicate with Spike telepathically that it was like speaking into a void for her and that he could only receive her messages if he was willing. So, yes, she had known that vampires had some special telepathic defenses, but she could think of similar examples where Spike had been affected just like any normal human.

“Not entirely,” she countered.

“Yes, entirely,” Danvers/Haunting argued. “Your friend’s mind is undisciplined, but we can show him…” A cackle. “Once we’ve taken over his mind, nothing will ever be able to force us out again. Your spell will be completely worthless, and your friends…” A feral grin. “We can hardly wait to sink our fangs into them for daring to try to force us back into that prison…”

* * *

“Everything we will need for the spell is gathered here.” Siggy flung open the door to the room Dawn had taken the night before and quickly began handing supplies to Eustacia Collins.

“We’ll need to do this someplace where we’ve got a good amount of space,” the old witch pointed out.

Siggy nodded. “The recreation room will work, I believe,” she offered.

Ms. Collins nodded. “I’ll take everything down there,” she offered. “You get us our third caster.”

Siggy merely grimaced and watched her go before turning to the other occupant of the room. “Veronica?” she asked softly.

The other woman remained wrapped in that blanket that surrounded her, blinking blankly off into space and her face still a ghastly pale for the horrors that had been inflicted upon her.

“We need your help.” Siggy ventured to rest a comforting hand on the other woman’s shoulder.

Veronica instantly shook it off, the confident predatory manner she’d exhibited in the past completely gone now and a shell-shocked husk in its place.

“It is vital,” Siggy insisted. “We must destroy the Haunting, but we cannot do it unless you help us to cast the spell.”

She got no reaction, not even a look to acknowledge that Veronica had registered her presence.

“I know it has caused you great pain,” Siggy pleaded. “I-I saw what happened as well…” The memory of Xel’s blood splattered across Veronica’s body was a horrible one and not something she was ever likely to forget, no matter how much she might want to. “It was horrible,” Siggy whispered softly. “But if you do not help us, then the Haunting has won.”

A sound at the door. “How are we doing?” Eustacia Collins asked, having just returned from the recreation room.

Siggy sighed. “Not well,” she admitted. “She does not even seem to hear me.”

Collins shook her head wearily. “It is clever as ever, striking magic casters…”

“Quite clever,” Siggy agreed, becoming mildly annoyed. “Now help me.” She knelt down before Veronica. “This is serious,” she repeated, shaking the young woman’s shoulders. “You wish to repay this demon for what it has done to you? This is your chance.”

“She’s not going to respond,” Ms. Collins’ shoulders slumped. “Just…give it up.”

“And what? We just sit here and wait for the Haunting to make us kill each other?” Siggy demanded angrily.

“What’s the use?” Ms. Collins countered. “We tried this all decades ago—”

“With a different spell,” Siggy interjected.

“—And just look where that got us,” Collins finished stubbornly.

“So, we let the Haunting escape?” Siggy retorted. “And we…what? Run away from it? You honestly do not believe that it will be able to track us down and kill us?”

“Maybe,” Collins sighed wearily. “But at least then it would be over.”

Siggy looked heavenward for inspiration. “You shall just drop your linens, then?” she demanded in exasperation.

“Huh?” Eustacia Collins looked puzzled.

“Throw in the towel.” The correction came from the corner of the room, where the third member of their party had gone unnoticed as the argument had heated up between Siggy and Ms. Collins. “The expression is ‘throw in the towel’,” Veronica repeated to Siggy after both of the women had finally registered that she was the one speaking.

“Yes, throw in the towel,” Siggy agreed in delight, as if the misplaced metaphor were the solution to all their problems. “You will help us?” she demanded of Veronica.

“Just tell me how to kill that bastard,” Veronica agreed, shakily rising to her feet. There was a hint of the old arrogance in her voice, however.

“Not all of those the Haunting has hurt are afraid to fight it,” Siggy said, turning back to Eustacia Collins with grim determination.

The older woman sighed. “Right, then,” she agreed. “Let’s hurry before it discovers what we’re up to and finds some way to kill us…”

* * *

“You know,” the thing in Laura Danvers’ body commented off-handedly as she continued to watch her – literally – captive audience, “we’re actually starting to like this world.”

“Oh, do tell,” the uncharacteristic sarcasm practically dripped from Rick’s voice.

“When that fool Danvers first brought us here, we were furious at having been kept locked up for all those millennia, but this time isn’t so different, you know? Three thousands years and you humans are still as miserable a lot as ever.”

“Enjoy the sight-seeing while you can,” Dawn advised, refusing to be convinced by the Haunting’s bravado.

“Mmm, I do,” Danvers/Haunting agreed. “No irritating Kassite mages to lock us away. No more idiots trying to use us in their own personal wars. Did you ever manage to pick up on that fact?” they inquired curiously. “Just how we got stuck in the out-of-the-way place, so far from our ancient home?”

“That book contained the summoning spell for you,” Dawn replied matter-of-factly.

“Ah, yes, the book,” Haunting/Danvers replied wistfully. “Our salvation and our warden. Too bad we had to destroy it, but we couldn’t have you casting that spell before our newest host was ready, could we?”

“From what I’ve heard, you still haven’t fully taken your ‘host’,” Dawn shuddered slightly at applying the word to Spike. “With the book gone—”

“You never wondered who was foolish enough to cast that summoning spell?” Haunting/Danvers cut back to their favored subject. “Or why?”

“Are you always so in love with the sound of your own voice?” Rick countered.

Haunting/Danvers gave him an annoyed look. “See how you feel after being trapped in non-corporeal form for millennia. We weren’t even strong enough to speak through this host body until that lovely demon pair decided to gorge us with their suicide banquet.”

“You’re really fucking sick, you know that?” Dawn retorted. “I’d try to appeal to whatever humanity’s left in you if I weren’t so sure it’d be a waste of time.”

“Silence!” The Haunting obviously didn’t like having its rants interrupted. “We were speaking.”

“Oh, how rude of us,” Rick said in the least contrite voice he could manage.

“You humans are ever the fools,” Haunting/Danvers retorted with a scowl, red eyes darkening to the color of blood. “That’s why Michael Danvers first brought us here, you know. He thought he could control us, use us as a weapon against his enemies. Poor Michael Danvers, trapped working in a rich hunting club, scrubbing dishes and busing trays. And with only an ancient book that he’d picked up in an odd bookstore, he found the perfect method of taking the lodge for himself. Oh, we drove out his betters, to be sure, forced them to turn everything over to him before we sentenced them to cold deaths. Repayment for our freedom was in order. But Danvers had the foolish notion that we were working for him, then. As if we would allow him to rule us, we who have witnessed eons of death and destruction…”

“He’s the one who gave the old witches the book,” Rick commented.

“The _traitor_!” Haunting/Danvers spat. “We finished him off, destroyed the witches, half-lived in starvation attached to his son for nearly fifty years, and then with his granddaughter after his son had passed on…” An empty smile crossed the crimson entity’s face then. “So, you see, no matter what you do, how hard you or anyone else works, it all comes to that. All of this boiled down to one moment of human stupidity – of simple jealousy and rage. Thus, your kind will always bring us life, even if _you_ ,” they cast Dawn a scathing look, “are able to resist us.”

“So we’ll kill you, and the next time someone makes a mistake, we’ll kill that monster, too,” Dawn retorted. “Another thing you forgot to mention about humans: We don’t give up easily.”

“And it’s gotten you _so_ far,” Haunting/Danvers retorted sarcastically. “The hatred and despair now is just as filling as it was three thousand years ago. Your kind’s not improving in the slightest.”

“Perhaps not,” Rick countered, “but you are no less flawed.”

The Haunting light flickered for a moment in offense. “How do you mean?” they insisted.

“The first rule of villainy,” Rick retorted. “Do not spend hours outlining your plan to the heroes. It has undone many before you.”

Haunting/Danvers snickered. “I waste no time,” they assured their captives. “You two are merely an entertaining diversion. Even now, my final move is set in motion.” Laura Danvers closed her red, fiery eyes once more and smiled at the scene playing before them…

* * *

Buffy’s blind search for Spike ended in an abrupt halt right outside the lobby. In retrospect, she realized that it was the first place she should have looked for him, the only place she knew for certain that he went when something was troubling him.

She clenched her hands tightly to stop their shaking as she approached the sitting room. The melodic strains from the piano continued to weave around her, forming the song she’d learned by heart over the past two weeks.

Only this time there was something different about it. What had once seemed ineffably beautiful now seemed to be a faded shadow of itself. The notes were all correct, but the _feeling_ behind them… She almost couldn’t believe it was Spike at the keys. The soothing comfort she’d once received from his playing was now gone, and in its place…nothing but pain.

She approached the door and slowly allowed it to creak open, exposing him to her view. God, even in this state, he was so incredibly beautiful to her. Her heart ached at his pain, and she wanted nothing more but to reach out to him, to tell him how much he meant to her and right the wrongs that monster had forced her to commit earlier that afternoon.

“S-Spike…” Her voice sounded hoarse, partly in relief that he hadn’t found some way to dust himself before she could reach him and partly from the tears that were streaming down her face.

The music stopped at her words, and he slowly rose from the bench, his movements cold and sinuous like a serpent’s. Buffy had seen Spike on the prowl before, and there was an element of that predator in his movements now, but there was something beyond that, something alien and out of place in his body.

“Well now, luv,” a voice that both was Spike’s and wasn’t purred in a seductive tone, “looks like the party’s finally ready to begin…”


	30. Ghosts of the Past

“Spike?” Buffy stepped nervously into the sitting room, her body tensed and her eyes never leaving the form of her lover for an instant. “Can you hear me?”

“You didn’t scream for me _that_ loudly, luv,” he countered with a nasty grin. “Hearin’s still fully intact.” He stepped from behind the piano bench and began to circle the room slowly, keeping in perfect counterpoint with her own movements.

“Spike, the Haunting’s controlling you,” she informed him matter-of-factly. Brief surprise passed through her when she realized that his eyes didn’t have the characteristic red glow that had identified the Haunting’s presence in the past, but she shook it off. Their foe had obviously developed a way around that since if Spike had seen the red in her eyes that afternoon, he obviously wouldn’t have fallen for that trick. “Are you listening to me?” she repeated.

“Funny thing,” he cocked his head to one side, nose scrunched up in a look of distaste as he studied her. “Spent all this time thinkin’ I wanted you, y’know? That I was in love with you. But now that I _really_ think about it… All I ever wanted was to see you dead.” His eyes narrowed to angry blue slits.

Buffy took a deep breath and shut her eyes for a second. “Spike,” she continued to plead with him, “ _William_. You’ve got to fight this thing. I know it’s hard, and I know you’re mad, but it’s using you, manipulating you. All those awful things I said to you…it wasn’t me. It controlled me just like it’s doing to you now, and if you don’t fight it… Please, baby,” her voice shook slightly. “I need you back. I love you…”

An angry bark of laughter escaped his lips. “Now, where’ve I heard that before?” he taunted her. “Somethin’ about me bein’ a whore to be bought with pretty words?”

“That wasn’t me,” Buffy insisted vehemently, tears forming at the corners of her eyes.

“Oh no,” he retorted sarcastically, “’course it wasn’t you. Bet ‘You’re an evil, disgusting thing’ wasn’t you, either. Or how about ‘You’re beneath me’?” He took a prowling step towards her, his eyes glinting yellow in the twilight and indicating just how close to shifting he was. “Never your fault, is it, Slayer?” he growled. “Always the demon that’s to blame.”

“That part _was_ my fault,” Buffy admitted, “but that was a long time ago, and—”

“’m just s’posed to forget it?” he retorted. “Forgive you like a good li’l puppy-dog?”

“You’re not a dog,” she insisted vehemently, “and you don’t have to forgive me. But this morning you said—”

“What makes you think _I_ wasn’t lyin’ to _you_?” he retorted with a snarl. “Maybe I wanted a li’l free action, too. Never occurred to you, huh?” He smirked at the stricken expression on her face. “Told you back then, I did. No lay out there anywhere near as good as a Slayer.”

“You’re not saying this,” she informed him, her own temper rising. “The Haunting’s inside you, and it’s—”

“Who was inside who earlier, though?” he taunted her, tongue flicking up beneath his teeth. “Seemed to enjoy it, too, as I recall. This li’l Slayer just begs for the vampires to sink their teeth into her…”

Buffy reflexively reached for the newest scar on her throat, covering it with her fingers.

“Hit a nerve, did I?” Spike countered with a knowing smirk. “Might wanna cover up the other side, too, luv. Nasty scars over there.”

Buffy let out an annoyed sigh and dropped her hand from her throat. “I’m not getting through to you, am I?” she said wearily.

“Looks like you’ve let half the Masters on the planet have a taste,” he continued, almost close enough to touch now, head cocked to one side as he studied the white scar tissue on her neck. “A delectable treat, you are…” His tongue flicked out to wet his lips.

“Spike,” she said in a warning tone, “stop it.”

A wry laugh. “Or you’ll what?” he countered. One tentative hand reached out for her, but she refused to flinch as it brushed softly against her hair before coming to rest on her cheek. A satisfied grin lit up his face at her lack of resistance. “You won’t do a thing to me,” he said confidently, his thumb brushing over her lower lip in a sensual caress.

Involuntarily, Buffy’s eyes fluttered shut at the sudden, unexpected gentleness. “Spike…” she breathed out.

“You want me,” he stated simply.

“Yes,” she agreed with a little sigh, opening her eyes…and letting out a startled cry when he growled in response, and his gentle fingers turned to razor-sharp claws against her skin. She leapt back with a fighter’s instincts and reached up to touch the bloody scratches that now lined her cheek.

Spike, meanwhile, has transformed completely into game face, feral yellow eyes honed in on his prey. “Then which one of us is the whore, really?” he countered malevolently.

“It doesn’t have to be like this,” Buffy insisted, wary now. Her feet naturally moved into a fighting stance, even as her heart cried out against the wrong-ness of it all. He was so close, and she just wanted to hold him and love him, not get caught up in the Haunting’s manipulations. “Please, Spike…”

“Actually, it has to be exactly like this,” he countered, crouched down and body tensed to pounce. “We’ve always known it, Slayer. Sooner or later one of us ‘ll kill the other. Was only a matter of time, really. And right about now, your time has just run out…”

* * *

“Are we ready?” Siggy asked anxiously, eyeing the red light that reflected throughout the entire lodge with a shiver.

Eustacia Collins lit the final candle and nodded. “I don’t know what the Haunting’s up to right now, but I recommend we hurry.”

“Veronica?” Siggy held out a hand to where the young redhead still sat curled up in her blanket.

Veronica gulped and managed to rise to shaky feet, leaving the blanket behind on the sofa as she entered the chalk circle Ms. Collins had created. “Where do you want me?” she inquired bravely.

“Take the southwest corner,” Collins instructed. “Siggy, you have the southeast.”

“You are taking the primary position?” Siggy asked pointedly, although she took the spot assigned to her.

“I’m the strongest magic caster here,” the old witch replied.

Siggy nodded and offered the still shaky Veronica her hand. The two of them watched Eustacia Collins as she slowly and stiffly made her way down to the floor, legs barely limber enough to sit cross-legged in their circle.

“You are positive you are still up for this?” Siggy demanded.

“What other choice do I have?” came the knowing reply.

The three women quieted then, each centering their minds for the task before them. Almost as if their bodies were being moved by supernatural forces, their hands reached out, forming a complete circle within the candlelit pentagram.

A low chant began to emerge from Eustacia Collins’ mouth, guttural demonic syllables rising and falling in a melodic cadence. Only a few seconds later, Siggy’s own precise incantation joined in, their voices augmenting each other as the chant grew louder. After over a minute, Veronica’s lips finally began to move, her words silent at first but becoming louder and louder as the magical trance finally overtook her, her body letting go of its pain and offering itself wholly to the power of their spell.

The three candles at the center of the circle flickered, their scant white light just barely driving back the hideous red that had taken over the lodge. But, slowly, as the three women’s voices grew more powerful, the flames rose up. A pure white light gleamed in the exact center of the magical circle, a small spark at first but growing larger and larger until finally what appeared to be a swirling ball of light rose up between the spell casters, floating upward until it came to a sudden halt only a foot below the ceiling.

The effects the light had made its true nature all too clear, however. Rather than an object existing in this universe, it was a hole into another. Slowly and inexorably, it drew in the red light of the Haunting, pulling bits and pieces of the demonic force into the dimension which it had been banished to nearly three thousand years before.

In turn, Eustacia Collins’, Siggy’s, and Veronica’s eyes all opened, their minds deep enough in the magical flow that they no longer needed such sharp concentration.

 _“It’s working.”_ Siggy’s lips didn’t move with those words, but through the magical circle completed by their hands, the other two women could hear her.

 _“If only this time we are strong enough to banish it completely,”_ Eustacia Collins added. _“Only if we are strong enough to pull it from its current host body…”_

* * *

Laura Danvers’ body jerked forward as if it had been snared by a particularly nasty hook. She gasped for breath for an instant before slowly righting herself and casually smoothing out her thinning gray hair.

Dawn and Rick watched in astonishment as a swirl of red light continued to be pulled free of her body before vanishing through the opening above.

“It is a clever spell,” Haunting/Danvers admitted grudgingly. “Quite an impressive show.”

“They’re pulling you back into the void,” Dawn commented.

Haunting/Danvers shrugged. “Parts of us,” they agreed. “But we do not exist the way your kind does, in one place and one body. We are all around. All that you can see,” Laura Danvers’ hand gestured to the light show surrounding them, “it is all part of us. And, when one part lives, we all do.”

“But, if the one part you depend upon dies…” Rick began.

Haunting/Danvers chuckled before the laughs turned to coughs, and the feeble old body bent over in agony. Then, just as soon as the coughing began, it stopped. “The new vessel will sustain us,” they insisted, leaning back against one of the statues now and obviously struggling for breath. “The vampire restored us once; he can do it again.”

“Of course, it was too much of a coincidence that Spike had been here before,” Dawn commented casually, watching their captor’s rapidly fading health with newfound hope. “What did you do to him before?”

“We?” the Haunting exclaimed in wide-eyed innocence. “We did nothing. We were starving then, too weak to even exert our influence upon our host. We begged for whatever scraps of misery this body would feed us, and more often than not we went hungry.”

“How truly tragic.” Rick’s voice practically dripped sarcasm.

Danvers/Haunting scowled at him. “A pity we didn’t have a chance to draw your death out, _Kayeri_ ,” they hissed. “Make it long and painful. We can assure you it wasn’t from lack of trying.”

Rick’s hand tightened on Dawn’s shoulder, a tacit thanks for the protection she offered him.

“Spike fed you,” Dawn realized, her eyes never leaving their quickly weakening foe. “He came through here right as he was leaving Sunnydale. He would have been a complete mess.”

“We had never tasted a vampire before,” Haunting/Danvers agreed. “His pain was our oasis in the desert. And, fortunately, our host was drawn enough to him to spend the night in his company. It allowed us to get…close, to draw every ounce of strength we could from him.”

Rick eyed the old woman critically. “Perhaps you should speak with Spike about raising his standards,” he commented to Dawn off-handedly.

“Oh, this vessel was young back then,” the Haunting corrected him, “and quite beautiful. We had not the strength to drain her then, but the vampire gave it to us. We took form, took rightful control of this vessel…”

“‘Rightful’?” Dawn repeated in disbelief.

“ _Laura Danvers_ ,” the demon practically spat out the name, “is the granddaughter of that traitor who tried to send us back. It is only right that in our triumph we should feed upon her.”

“You know, that also happens to be the same guy who freed you. Oh, and Spike gave you back your strength, so naturally you’re turning his life into a living hell,” Dawn taunted the entity. “You’ve got a hell of a way of showing your gratitude.”

“We need the vampire vessel,” Haunting/Danvers insisted vehemently. “You humans have always been too weak. We did not even know we could feed upon the undead until your friend arrived. His pain was very…human,” they commented curiously.

“So you tricked him back here so you could enjoy a second course,” Dawn concluded.

Laura Danvers’ eyelids drooped, and she winced slightly as if in pain, one hand reaching up to clutch at her ribs. “Yes,” she hissed, the human voice within her sounding even weaker, “we remembered his power. We knew we must have him for our new host.”

“Then why call all the rest of us up here?” Dawn demanded, catching Rick’s eye to make sure that he saw the possible escape avenue that was arising. “Why create this elaborate farce?”

Another cough raked Laura Danvers’ body, and she bent over as yet another wave of red energy was ripped out of her. She looked up at them with narrowed red eyes. “Appetizers,” she spat nastily.

“You know, I hate to point out the obvious but, hey, if you’re still in there, Laura Danvers, you might wanna do something about the fact that this thing’s about to kill you…” Dawn said casually.

The red fire behind those eyes blazed brighter for a second before another energy drain took hold of Laura Danvers’ body. She collapsed to the ground with the force of this one, and the energy field that held Dawn and Rick in place shook for a second before reestablishing itself, only slightly weaker this time.

Dawn and Rick both observed that the Key light that surrounded them expanded outward slightly as the counter-force grew weaker. They were still trapped, but they had a few feet to maneuver around in now. And, hopefully, their advantage would continue to become greater with time.

Shakily now, Laura Danvers rose to her feet, one hand pressed firmly against the wooden statue beside her in order to stand up. Two echoing coughs sounded through the temple before she stood tall once more and hastily moved to straighten her hair and clothes.

“I can see the hope in your eyes,” she informed them malevolently, taking a step back so that she vanished into the shadows once more. “You think that I will become weak, and then you will be able to save your friends…”

The voice moved through the shadows, and Dawn and Rick turned within the radius of the Key’s green light, keeping their enemy in front of them.

“You are wrong,” Laura Danvers hissed, and a glint of reflected light could be seen from the darkness. The old woman appeared once more, strong again for the moment, but this time she held a razor-sharp hunting knife in one hand. “You two will not even live to see my ascension,” she announced, coming at them with knife prepared to strike…

* * *

Buffy ducked to the side and rolled across the carpet, coming to her feet again on the far side of the piano.

Spike regained his stance from where his fist had just met empty air and turned to face her, bouncing lightly on his toes in anticipation of the battle of his unlife. With a roar, he rushed the Slayer, landing a kick squarely in her stomach.

Buffy gasped from the power behind the blow but kept her balance, neatly blocking his next two punches. “You know,” block, “I tried,” kick, “being reasonable about this,” dodge, block, “but sometimes the only way,” punch, throw, “to get through that thick skull of yours,” duck, wince, counterattack, “is by hitting your repeatedly over the head.” She finished her declaration with a roundhouse kick that sent him falling backwards to the floor, head snapping back at the impact. “Why do we always have to do this the hard way?” she asked rhetorically.

Spike leapt back up to his feet, vamp face grinning with evil, childlike glee. “Always knew you were up for some good saber-rattlin’,” he taunted, thrusting his hips provocatively in distraction before he backhanded her across the jaw.

Buffy caught herself and rolled away in time to avoid his next kick. “From what I can see,” she retorted, “ _you’re_ the one who’s up, and your saber’s not going to get rattled for a _long_ time the way you’re acting…” She kicked outward in time with her back-flip and caught him under the jaw again before landing neatly back on her feet.

He let out a delighted bark of laughter at that. “Rollin’ in your blood’s enough for me, luv,” he countered. He managed to dodge to the side at her next kick and caught her leg, twisting it hard as he threw her across the room.

Buffy grunted as she crashed into the piano bench, shattering it. She shook her head and blinked to see a perfectly serviceable wooden stake in one of the bench’s legs. With grim determination, she bit her lower lip and rose to her feet, leaving the stake where it was.

“Not even gonna grab a bit ‘f wood before you go?” he commented snidely. “Or could it be that you’re still sore ‘cause you can’t grab mine?”

“God, do you always get this crude when you’re pissed?” she retorted, landing a quick series of punches and kicks in perfect succession across his solar plexus. The last high-kick sent him careening back over the couch.

He rose once more with a grin, wiping away the trail of blood that dripped from his mouth. “Or maybe you’re sore from the last time you _did_ grab mine,” he continued to confirm her theory. “High-kick’s not so high as usual, pet. Feelin’ a bit…achy after the workout I gave you?”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “You know, enough. You stupid Haunting or Shish-kabob-y or whatever you call yourself? Knock it off, already! This is getting way old…”

A hint of red flared in Spike’s eyes for a second. “What?” he spat angrily. “You want me to turn back into that ponce who made moon-eyes at you and spent every waking moment writin’ music at that keyboard like a lovesick git?” He gestured to the piano violently.

Buffy’s eyes softened for a second. “That song was for me?” she asked, touched.

Spike’s own aspect turned gentle for a second, face shifting back into human planes and deep blue eyes look up at her under long lashes. “Well, ‘f course. Who else could make me—?” He cut off in mid-syllable, head jerking violently to the side as he slipped back into vamp face. A brilliant red light flared in his eyes for a second before vanishing again. The Haunting’s malevolent eyes narrowed at her as Spike’s body prowled around her. “Oh, you’ll pay for that, little girl,” they hissed through Spike’s lips in an inhuman voice before lunging once more…

* * *

Siggy winced in pain as another swirl of red energy was sucked into the portal between them. All magic demanded a price, and apparently this spell’s price was physical hardship on the parts of the casters. To her left, Veronica’s eyes were squeezed tightly shut but, to the woman’s credit, she didn’t break the rhythm of the spell in the slightest.

Another wave of energy was banished into the portal, and the entire circle flinched at the force of impact.

 _“How long do we have to keep this up?”_ Veronica’s mental voice sounded as if she were walking on fire.

 _“Until all of the Shur-Ashk-Um-Ur-Abi has been consumed,”_ Eustacia Collins replied. _“Last time we left only a fraction of it behind and…”_

 _“We must finish it for good this time,”_ Siggy agreed.

The building rumbled around them, as if the Haunting were clinging to it to escape their spell, but ultimately a new influx of red appeared and vanished into the white light.

Excruciating agony wracked the bodies of the three women at this latest impact, and Siggy’s voice faltered for a second before finding the chant once more.

 _“I don’t know if I can take another one of the those,”_ Veronica despaired.

Eustacia Collins’ brow furrowed, as if she was pondering something of great importance, before she communicated with them again. _“Send the impact my way,”_ she instructed.

Siggy’s eyes widened in alarm, even as she continued to chant. _“You cannot possibly—”_ she began.

 _“I am the strongest here,”_ Eustacia Collins insisted. _“I can handle it.”_

 _“Well, I’m not fighting you,”_ Veronica shrugged with a hint of her old vinegar.

Siggy felt the next shock wave come in and nodded, letting the blow flow through her this time and into Ms. Collins. The old woman trembled but held, her voice never weakening for an instant.

 _“I only hope you do not exaggerate your abilities,”_ Siggy finally replied, _“or we are all doomed.”_

The old witch’s clear, gray eyes met hers for an instant, surprising her with the power and conviction within them. _“I failed once,”_ she insisted. _“I will not do so again. One way or another, this ends tonight…”_

* * *

Buffy coughed and wiped away the blood that had appeared in her own mouth at the force of Spike’s last kick. With a roar, the vampire came at her again, and she somehow managed to move her aching body, avoiding the brunt of his kick. However, he still grazed her side, and she heard a crunch. She had no doubt that at least one of her ribs had broken.

Nevertheless, she was the Slayer and had taken far worse, although most of that had been at her prime. She didn’t know whether it was the power of the Haunting’s presence or just that she was out of practice, but now that Spike was no longer fooling around, she could tell that she was outmatched. He was faster than her, just as strong, and she was injured badly enough that she couldn’t quite escape his blows.

And, as a punch caused her vision to go black for a fraction of a second before she could strike back, the disturbing thought occurred to the Slayer for the first time in her life: This wasn’t a fight she was going to win…


	31. The Moment of Truth

“Had enough yet, Slayer?” Spike was circling in closer to her, dangerous precision in each of his long strides.

Buffy took in a deep breath of air and rose back to her feet, fighting against the painful hitch in her side. Yup, ribs definitely broken. That splintered piece of wood over by the piano was starting to look better every minute, but she resisted the urge. “Spike—” she began.

“Don’t wanna hear it!” The Haunting’s control over the vampire had tightened since that one moment when the real Spike had slipped through. Spike’s body lunged across the room to tackle her back onto the floor, razor-sharp fangs only inches from her jugular.

Buffy managed to get her forearm up against his throat and thrust hard, causing him to gasp at the pain to his windpipe. A strong knee to his stomach, and his grip weakened on her. She quickly took advantage of the situation to turn the tables on him, pinning him to the floor beneath her and trapping him between her straddled thighs.

A low vibration rumbled through the body beneath her, and his hips rolled against hers suggestively. “Thinkin’ of bringin’ down another house?” he insinuated.

Buffy took a moment to calm herself before resorting to the last desperate tactic of a stubborn Slayer: talking. “Spike,” she began again, “we’re not like that anymore, remember? Everything I told you—”

“Was a lie!” a voice hissed from Spike’s lips. It sounded almost solely like the Haunting’s, however, as if the malevolent entity was trying to keep Spike convinced of that fact.

“Everything that I said when we were together is the truth,” Buffy countered vehemently. “You’ve got to listen to me, Spike. This thing… It plays upon your worst fears, your insecurities. And then, while you’re trapped in the pain, it brings out the worst in you, makes you do terrible things. And it’s even worse because you know that somewhere deep inside, those thoughts are yours.”

“You’re not exactly helping your case here,” the Haunting spat out, its voice sounding like a guttural distortion of Spike’s usual rich accent.

“So, yeah, I have doubts,” Buffy shot back. “You think I don’t worry about what would happen in the unlikely event that you go out on a killing spree? Or what if you finally decide that I’m not worth it after all and leave me just like all the others?”

“Sounds like a right good idea,” Spike snarled.

Buffy bit her lip and forced herself to remember that this wasn’t _her_ Spike talking. It was all the worst in him, magnified a thousand-fold for the Haunting’s benefit. “Thinking these things is part of being _human_ ,” she insisted doggedly. “But if you let it consume you… Spike, you don’t really want it to end like this.”

“How do you know what I want?” he snapped.

“Because I know that this morning was real,” she insisted. “Please, baby…”

His eyes seemed to soften again for a second, but then he was back as vicious as ever. Fangs and claws flew, and before Buffy knew what was happening, she’d been thrown painfully back against the far wall.

She slumped to the ground and shook her head, but before she could get up, Spike had tackled her once more, clawed hand at her throat. Her eyes widened as he raised a hand to strike. “I love you,” she repeated.

Another flash of blue within his eyes. “Stop saying that!” the Haunting exclaimed, burning a deep red within Spike’s body and completely consuming the vampire’s gentler side. Narrowed crimson eyes bored into Buffy before the hand at her throat slowly began to squeeze. “Maybe you need a bitta help shuttin’ that mouth of yours, eh, luv?” he said in a falsely jovial voice.

Buffy opened her mouth to gasp for air, but she couldn’t breathe through his stranglehold.

Spike tisked her softly. “Shoulda grabbed the stake when you could,” he taunted mercilessly. “’Cause all those fears: the killin’ spree, you not bein’ worth it?” A nasty leer. “They’re all about to come true…”

* * *

The floor shook violently, as if from the force of an earthquake, and the three women struggled to maintain their positions. Vibrations buffeted the circle, yet only a single candle fell at the seismic force.

Inwardly, Siggy praised Eustacia Collins for setting up so many effective defensive spells around them for when they were too wrapped up in the ritual to protect themselves.

The Haunting’s violent objection was followed by the largest influx of red energy into the portal yet. The glowing white opening turned a thick red for an instant, like a drain too clogged up to work quickly enough.

To the three women, the experience was agonizing. Siggy and Veronica directed the brunt of the magical recoil Collins’ way, but they could still feel the mystical claws, digging slowly at them from the inside out.

Eustacia Collins, on the other hand, half crumbled at the force of the blow. The magical attacks took physical form as shallow cuts appeared across her arms and face, slowly dribbling thick, red blood.

 _“We cannot do this!”_ Siggy’s mental voice began to panic. _“We must stop—”_

 _“NO!”_ Eustacia Collins insisted vehemently. _“If we stop now, we’ll never be free of it.”_ She managed to rise to her seated position once more, never once breaking the spell.

Siggy and Veronica exchanged a skeptical look. The old woman was still bleeding shallowly from her cuts, and her face looked gray and haggard.

 _“Perhaps we could stop and take a break before recasting?”_ Siggy suggested tentatively.

 _“We have it,”_ Eustacia Collins countered. _“We’re so close. I can feel it struggling against us…”_

A loud rattling accompanied her pronouncement, indicating all too clearly just how much the Haunting didn’t like this spell.

 _“We can hold out a while longer,”_ Veronica offered. _“It’s not critical yet.”_

Siggy grudgingly conceded the point but kept a wary eye on Eustacia Collins. The old witch wasn’t anywhere near as physically fit as they were, and this spell’s toll was obviously hitting her hard.

 _“Trust me.”_ Ms. Collins had obviously caught Siggy’s speculative look. _“I will not fail again.”_

The vehemence in her mind calmed Siggy’s doubts for the time being, and she closed her eyes once more, bracing herself for yet another tremendous impact…

* * *

Laura Danvers’ skeletal form lunged, cutting edge of her knife gleaming in the eerie red light that shrouded the temple.

Rick barely had time to push Dawn behind him before his lightning-quick reflexes blocked the blade at the last split second, taking the gash on the back of his arm instead of deep through his gut.

With a hiss, Haunting/Danvers retreated again into the darkness, carefully planning her next moment to strike.

“You arm…” Dawn murmured in alarm, reaching out to touch Rick’s elbow.

“Stay behind me,” he warned her off, his tone deadly serious. “I must be prepared—” He cut off in mid-sentence, flinching backward so that Haunting/Danvers’ strike fell just short.

Dawn nodded with jaw clenched, hating that she had to wait helplessly in the background but also knowing full well that his reflexes were much faster than hers. “Try to get her knife,” she whispered softly enough that their attacker couldn’t hear.

Rick circled around, demonic ears following the path of their foe as she circled. The red light that held them captive had faded ever since the spell casting had begun. It offered Dawn and Rick about a six-foot circle in which to move now. However, it also meant that the hole in the ground was almost completely dark, leaving them nearly blind to the danger.

The quick glint of the blade in the moonlight was the only warning Rick got, and he managed to deflect another blow before Laura Danvers vanished back off into the darkness once more.

“I can’t see her,” Rick complained.

Dawn blinked. “Maybe you should try taking off the sunglasses, then,” she countered, managing to smile despite their dire circumstances.

Rick quickly reached up to discover that, yes, he was still wearing his sunglasses. Force of habit. He quickly removed them and the nearer shadows were illuminated. “Yes, I am an idiot,” he chided himself lightly.

“Don’t worry about it,” Dawn grinned, staying behind him as he slowly circled. “I’ve had to live with Spike for the past five years. I’m used to it.”

A small smile curved the edges of his lips before he saw a movement in the shadows and kicked forward in time with the latest attack. The blade went flying from Laura Danvers’ hand but skittered across the floor and back into the darkness, well out of their reach. The demon-possessed woman vanished into the darkness after it with a hiss.

The hunt began anew.

“This is no fun,” Dawn concluded in a low voice, taking her cues from Rick and moving within their circle of magical protection slowly.

“We will have to stop her,” Rick agreed.

Dawn grimaced. “We’re beating up on an old lady?” she countered.

“Not so old,” Rick pointed out. The pair of them continued to move carefully, eyes scanning the darkness. The lack of attacks was almost more nerve-wracking than the strikes themselves. “I will attempt to distract her,” Rick whispered to Dawn. “You grab her.”

Dawn nodded in agreement just as Laura Danvers burst from the shadows once more, wailing like a banshee and brandishing the knife high above her head. Rick dodged, and Dawn lunged, tackling the woman from the side. The knife clattered away once more, but just as Dawn exclaimed in victory, angry nails scratched deep into her cheek.

She let out a cry and, a second later, was bucked clean off of the older woman. The Key force moved with Dawn, and for a second Rick was beyond its protection. He cried out in pain as his skin turned an angry red color and dove back to the protective green light.

Dawn looked up and winced when she saw the burns that covered Rick’s hands and face from just that brief encounter with the malevolent red light. He looked like he’d baked badly in the sun.

Laura Danvers, meanwhile, had turned into a raging fury. Her long, ragged nails gouged into Rick’s hand when he tried to hold her, and she thrashed violently in his grip. Dawn moved to help and got a kick in their stomach for her troubles, right before Haunting/Danvers landed a heel in a significantly more sensitive part of Rick’s anatomy.

Rick grip weakened as he gasped in pain, and the old woman slipped away before attacking again with fists, nails, feet, and teeth.

Dawn lunged forward to grab her from behind and quickly discovered that Laura Danvers was stronger than should be humanly possible. She took several painful hits before Rick regained control over the pain and helped her hold the old woman.

Laura Danvers continued to thrash and shriek and bite, however, inflicting as much pain upon the pair as possible.

“You know,” Dawn began between gasps for air, “I’m starting to think this wasn’t such a good idea…”

* * *

 _Spike…_ Buffy felt her vision blackening as her brain became deprived of oxygen. The only advantage she could see to this situation was that in order to choke her his hand had to cover his scar on her neck, making mental communication between them possible. Buffy knew only too well that it was her last chance to stop him. Already, her body was starting to feel distant, almost as if she were moving beyond it. _I love you, Spike. Please, you know this is true, that I’m not lying to you…_

 _Stop it._ The voice in his head sounded weak, though, distant…

 _I can’t stop loving you_ , she countered. _Please, Spike, I’ve got to show you…_

“What are you doing?” the Haunting’s guttural voice sounded concerned.

Buffy managed to form enough coherent thought to realize that her communications with Spike now were private. The malevolent entity couldn’t break through them. _Let me show you_ , she pleaded, reaching out with her mind to the essence of the man she loved.

Cautiously, he began to relax under her mental caresses, slowly opening his mind to see the images she was trying so desperately to show him…

 _A smile lit up Buffy’s face as she opened the door to see the vampire on the other side. The two met in the center in a desperate kiss, clinging together. “Angel,” Buffy breathed…_

As if burned, Spike’s mental defenses shot back up, tears stinging his eyes at the images of his Slayer in his grandsire’s arms. God, what had she said before? That he was just a cheap Angel replacement? He should’ve known that she would never turn aside that wanker for him…

“W-What’s happening?” the Haunting was speaking as a voice almost entirely separate from Spike’s now. For one harrowing second, it had almost lost its hold on the vampire’s body, and the relentless spell that surrounded the lodge had begun to tug slowly at it. The phenomenon ended quickly, however, and the vampire retreated back into the far recesses of his mind. “Little bitch,” the Haunting spat at Buffy, determining that she was the source of its control slip even if it couldn’t determine how. “Being killed by the man you love is too good for _you_ …” it spat angrily, not realizing its error until it was a second too late.

 _Even the Haunting knows I love you_ , Buffy continued to plead with Spike’s withdrawn mind. _Please, I just need you to trust me. You have to see the whole story…_

 _I can’t take it anymore._ Even Spike’s mental voice sounded close to tears. _Knowing that he’ll always come first…_

 _Just let me show you_ , she countered. _I can’t tell you unless you’re willing to see it yourself._

 _You love him_ , he accused.

 _I love_ you, Buffy corrected. _Just give me this one chance…_

Almost as if he’d been in a trance, Spike seemed to realize just how close to death she was. He hesitated for a second before slowly opening his mind to her once more…

* * *

Rick cried out as Laura Danvers’ teeth dug deep into his hand. Dawn caught the woman’s hair and tried to yank her back off of him, but her efforts met with limited success. Finally, she managed to claw her own nails into Haunting/Danvers’ throat, and the woman released Rick with a screech.

The two demon hunters continued to try to restrain the woman-turned-hellbeast, taking bruises and cuts in the process. The both cried out in victorious unison when they each caught hold of a wrist, stilling their foe.

It was then that they realized that their victory had another cause, however. Laura Danvers’ body had jerked to a complete halt, eyes wide with horror as a red light began emitting from her mouth and eyes, pulled out by the force of the magical spell.

Dawn and Rick felt the supernatural strength leave their captive’s body as the last of the Haunting was yanked from its host.

“This is it,” Dawn announced, mental fingers crossed.

Rick gulped, praying for their spell casters’ success as well…

* * *

The air seemed to grow thick, almost as if a thick smog had filled the recreation room, making breathing almost impossible. The trio of women had to force out the incantation between parched lips, eyes squeezed tightly shut against the oppressive heat that engulfed them.

 _“This is going to be nasty,”_ Veronica thought with trepidation.

 _“I think that perhaps this is the last of it, however,”_ Siggy countered. With their previous intake, the glowing light around the inn had faded, leaving the Haunting stripped down to its bare essentials. _“Do you not think?”_ The final question was directed at Eustacia Collins.

However, the elderly woman didn’t respond. She had cut herself off from the mental conversation after the last hit and was reserving her strength solely for forcing the words of the spell passing through her lips. A trickle of blood had begun dribbling down her forehead from the mental strain, and her nose was beginning to bleed now as well.

In response to the primary witch’s failing health, the portal above them was pulsing slowly now, expanding and contracting slightly in a way that almost looked like breathing. However, the portal still stayed open.

 _“Just a little longer,”_ Siggy encouraged Eustacia Collins even though she wasn’t sure if the older woman could hear her anymore. Because there wasn’t even a shadow of doubt in her mind that the next few minutes would determine whether they succeeded or the Haunting won…

* * *

 _“Angel,” Buffy breathed with a sigh, pulling back and rested her cheek against his broad chest. “I can hardly believe you’re really here.”_

 _“It seems like we’ve been waiting forever,” he agreed softly, fingers gently stroking her cheek._

 _Buffy smiled at the cool touch of his fingers. God, she had dreamed of this for so long. Every man she’d touched had just been a pale imitation of this one. She’d tried dating in the five years since he’d left, but every other man had turned to Angel in her mind’s eye, making all other kisses seem bittersweet. Well, except for one…_

 _“We can actually be together?” she demanded softly, craning her neck upward to look at him. “No more danger from the curse?”_

 _“Soul fully anchored,” he assured her. “My gift from the Powers…for now, at least. One day I’ll be—”_

 _Buffy pressed a fingertip to his lips. “Later,” she insisted. “Right now… I’ve been waiting for too long.” Their lips met again, harder and deeper this time, lingering as they attempted to stoke the old fire back to life._

 _Buffy’s eyes drifted closed as she leaned up into his embrace. His lips were cool like she remembered, but had he always been this tall? In her dreams, he’d been shorter, more accessible. Ah well, time did that to memories…_

 _She moved to slip her arms over his shoulders, once again correcting the mental image that had made them narrower, leaner. Her lips pressed more fervently against his, seeking out that fiery passion that burned deep within her belly at merely the thought of his touch. It was oddly elusive tonight, though._

 _Her fingers moved to tangle in his hair the way she had always loved to, running the soft platinum locks through her fingers and…_

 _Wait a minute…_

 _A frown creased Buffy’s brow at the sudden realization that the man she was picturing kissing most assuredly had platinum hair. And he_ was _shorter and slimmer, and just one look from those clear blue eyes had her hotter than this kiss ever could, and he was supposed to smell of leather and bourbon and cigarette smoke. Her fingers were supposed to find those ridiculous silver chains around his neck, and she was supposed to be able to_ feel _him smirking against her lips as they kissed and…_

 _Angel pulled away abruptly, an anxious look on his face._

 _Buffy’s eyes opened guiltily, realizing with sudden shock that she’d been imagining_ Spike _, of all people, while she’d been kissing the supposed love of her life._

 _“B-Buffy…” Angel’s voice sounded shaky now, unsure._

 _She gulped. Since when was her love for Angel ‘supposed’? Since when did that tender emotion conjure an image, not of the dark, brooding man of her past, but of a peroxide pest, full of swagger and cutting remarks that always left her breathless?_

All along _, a voice whispered in her head._ All those times you imagined that those cool lips belonged to Angel? They always belonged to another…

 _“W-Were you not really thinking about us, either?” she finally ventured hesitantly, hoping she had correctly identified the same troubled look in his eyes._

 _A stunned nod. “Buffy, I…” he trailed off helplessly. “I’m sorry.”_

 _“No, I am,” she insisted. “I guess I just…”_

 _“Moved on?” he suggested, his voice sounding as if he was just as surprised by this turn of events as she was._

 _“It has been a long time,” she agreed apologetically._

 _He took a deep, unnecessary breath and nodded. “I think maybe I should go,” he finally commented, sounding both troubled and relieved at once._

 _Buffy felt the same way. This part of her past had been haunting her for so long. It would be such a relief to just let it go… “Yeah, that’s probably best.” She managed a small smile._

 _“There’s someone I need to…” he trailed off. “There’s someone,” he said simply._

 _“Yeah,” she agreed softly, still marveling at the beautiful image of Spike that she had in her mind and tentatively attaching the word ‘love’ to it. It felt strange at first. She never would’ve even thought to allow the connection before, but the more she thought about it, the more fitting it seemed._ I love Spike. _Such a simple phrase, and everything that had seemed slightly off or confusing suddenly fell into place._ I love Spike. Oh god, I loved Spike all along…

* * *

A pulse. The building itself seemed to hold its breath on this one moment as if even the woodwork itself could sense all that weighed upon this one instant, and…

* * *

“Buffy, luv?” Spike’s voice was a whimper at first as his hand slowly released her throat. He shook his head fiercely, growling at the red light that tried to enter his body once more. “Buffy?” he repeated, desperately this time, watching the lifeless body that lay beneath his…

* * *

“Yes,” Haunting/Danvers hissed in triumph, abandoning the broken body of Laura Danvers as it felt the culmination of all its careful planning finally pay off. It had not anticipated Spike driving it out in this moment, but it mattered no longer. The instant Spike realized that he’d murdered the woman he loved, his mind would be completely broken, and the Haunting would live forever in the shell of his body…

* * *

“Buffy?” Spike repeated in alarm this time, tentatively reaching out to touch her arm, a horrible fear shooting through his dead veins for a moment and then…

A cough and a gasp.

Spike practically sobbed with relief, pulling Buffy up into his arms and holding her head up against his shoulder so that she could breathe more easily. Her breaths were shallow now, pained from where her throat had been constricted. Her pulse was strong, though, pumping her powerful Slayer blood through her body where it could heal all wounds.

“Oh god, ‘m so sorry, my love,” he whimpered against her, wincing at the bruises he’d left on her neck as if he could feel all her pain physically. “’m so, so sorry…”

A small frown crossed her brow at the pain, yet her body still burrowed instinctively against his, curling tighter up into his arms.

“It’ll be all right, luv,” he soothed her gently. “Spike’s got you…”

The red light that surrounded the pair began to feel a slight tug. It oozed over towards Spike, desperate for the sheltered safety of the vampire’s mind.

Spike caught the motion out of the corner of his eye, and his bones shifted in fury. He let out a low, menacing growl as the red light tried to consume him once more, but it was perfectly clear now that the spirit had guided his doubts and fears before. Odd how hard that had been to determine when he was possessed, but now the only thing that filled his mind was his desire to keep the deceptively fragile woman in his arms safe from this monster.

The Haunting poked at his mind, whispering sweet promises of revenge.

“ _Never_ ,” Spike hissed at it angrily.

And then, with a yank that almost made it appear as though it were being sucked through the wall by a vacuum cleaner, the Haunting was gone.

“’S gone now,” Spike cooed to Buffy’s unconscious form reassuringly. “My clever Slayer finally freed me from it…”

* * *

“No!” The Haunting’s voice let out an ear-shattering scream from Laura Danvers’ body as the last of it was pulled away. The cry sounded in the guttural, possessed voice for a few seconds before it faded back into a woman’s shrill scream.

Rick and Dawn winced at the sound, holding Laura Danvers’ arms steady as the final beam of red energy shot from her. The Haunting that had been within her vanished through the opening in the ceiling, leaving the old woman’s crumpled form to fall to the floor, a puppet with its strings cut.

Rick and Dawn quickly released her, lowering her gently to the floor, but Dawn knew even before she checked Laura Danvers’ pulse that she was gone. She shook her head ruefully at Rick.

He merely nodded grimly before noticing that the Key glow around Dawn had faded as the last of their trap had fled with the Haunting. “We are free…”

* * *

Eustacia Collins’ words slurred for the first time as the final influx of energy entered the portal. Her voice went silent for a few seconds as she gasped in pain, coughing horribly in her agony.

Siggy and Veronica’s own voices increased in response, struggling as the full brunt of the spell fell fully upon the two inexperienced magic casters for the first time. For a second, they felt the same burn that Eustacia Collins had been subjected to all this time, like their insides were being ripped apart.

And then Eustacia Collins rose one last time, her voice gravelly but strong. A final, powerful convulsion raked her body just as the last of the Haunting’s red energy vanished into the portal. For an instant, the Cascade Mountain Lodge was illuminated by a pure, white light before Eustacia Collins finally gave way and collapsed forward across the circle they’d created.

Veronica and Siggy instantly stopped the spell, and the portal vanished, trapping the Haunting permanently within.

Tentatively, Siggy reached out to support their fallen ally, grimacing at the blood that Eustacia Collins had coughed up after that final jolt of magical backlash.

The old woman surprised her by opening her eyes one last time, a small, satisfied smile lighting up her face. “It’s finally over,” she croaked out, sounding awed and relieved at the same time. Then her eyelids fluttered closed, and she was no more.

“Yes,” Siggy agreed solemnly, “it is.”

* * *

“We have to get out of here,” Rick insisted, looking up to the opening above them.

Dawn rested both her hands squarely on his shoulders and pushed him back down to sit against the wall. “You’re not going anywhere until I see to that cut.” She took his injured arm in her small hands, marveling at the contrast of his dark chocolate skin and her own ivory complexion. She released him for a second to pull off her sweater before ripping the fabric into strips to tie around his wounds.

“A pity you do not have a petticoat,” he teased lightly. “Then we could act out the clichéd nursing scene to perfection.”

Dawn grinned brightly at him. “You know, I kind of think I…” She trailed off, cheeks flushing slightly.

His red, demonic eyes looked up at hers lazily, and she was struck with how beautiful they really were. Strange, true, but so beautiful...

And she realized that this was probably the worst time and place imaginable to make such a declaration. “You’re wonderful,” she said instead, planting a soft kiss on his brow. “If only you’d sit still and let me take care of all this.”

“How will we get out of here, then?” he asked, ceding to her wishes but only because he felt so tired after their ordeal.

“Don’t worry about it,” she assured him softly. “They’ll come back for us. Something just tells me that everything’s gonna be all right now…”

* * *

Spike lifted Buffy’s small body up into his arms as he rose to his feet. She had never seemed so tiny and helpless to him before, given the usual passion and power that burned through her. But, now, as he held her close and walked away from the site of what could have been their final battle, he could finally understand how this woman could be so strong and so vulnerable at once. And he fell in love all over again.

“C’mon, luv,” he purred against her hair softly, “let’s get out of this hellhole…”


	32. Fractured Memories

Buffy’s eyes blearily fluttered open. For some reason, she felt terribly tired – exhausted, in fact. Her throat felt quite parched, and her entire body ached. She managed a weary groan and rolled over onto her back, tensing at the stiffness and bruising.

“You awake, luv?” The soft-spoken words sounded concerned, but above all…scared?

“Spike?” She turned her head to see him slumping back in the armchair beside her bed, looking tense as all hell. “What—?” she began, before it all came back to her.

He seemed to sense the moment when she remembered and ducked his head dejectedly. “’ll get Dawn to come tell you all about it,” he mumbled softly, getting up and moving to leave.

“Spike?” Her voice still sounded a bit gravelly from the trauma her throat had received, but it wasn’t really all that painful anymore. _Go, go, Slayer healing._

He looked down at her. “Sorry ‘bout all that,” he ventured. “I mean with the…” He trailed off, embarrassed.

“Trying to kill me?” she suggested with a wry smile.

“Yeah, that,” he agreed. “’ll just—”

A soft, warm hand circling his wrist brought him to an abrupt halt. “Stay?” Buffy requested softly, shimmering hope in her eyes.

He gulped, feeling himself drowning in those hazel pools all over again. “You’re sure you want me to…?”

“I think we established pretty well that I want _all_ of you,” she agreed shyly. “Stay with me?” she repeated, pulling him down to sit on the bed beside her.

A look of relief passed over his features. “Was afraid you’d want me gone,” he confessed softly, stretching out on the mattress beside her and sighing contentedly when she rested her head in the crook of his shoulder.

“Tell me all about it,” she asked hopefully.

“Sure you don’t want anything?” he insisted first. “You were out for two days. Must be hungry.”

Buffy groaned in disbelief. “Two days? You really did a number on me…” Then the second point registered. “I suppose room service is still out of order?” she pouted.

He chuckled. “Look around, luv,” he countered. “Got ourselves a nice, normal motel, complete with every amenity.” He picked up the phone. “May not be so fancy, but at least nothing’s tryin’ to kill us.”

“The novelty,” she teased. Grinning, she began to trace the seam of his jeans along his outer thigh as he ordered, fingers playing absentmindedly with the dark fabric. For a second, it seemed almost as though that day hadn’t occurred and she’d just woken up after their afternoon of passion together. The persistent ache in her ribcage and the way Spike was nervously running his fingers through his hair belied this fact, however.

It was strange, in a way. At that moment she wanted nothing more than for things to go back to the way they had before the Haunting had possessed her. She had nearly died, true, but that didn’t really seem important to her anymore. All that mattered was not losing the best thing she’d ever had in her life. It was an odd feeling for her to forgive so easily – especially when it was Spike that she was forgiving – but everything felt simpler this way, like a load had been lifted from her shoulders…

Spike hung up the phone. “They say it’ll be about fifteen minutes,” he informed her.

She patted the pillow beside her head, indicating that he should join her. “Just enough time for you to tell me everything that’s been happening,” she concluded.

He settled down beside her again, face only inches from hers. A small smile lit up her face as he shifted uncomfortably. She opened up her arms to him, and he hesitated for a second before burying himself in her embrace, nuzzling the scars on her throat affectionately and body shaking with emotion.

“God, ‘m so sorry, luv,” he pleaded against her warm flesh. “I-I didn’t… I mean, I did, but… Oh god, you’re all right, luv…and ‘m so, so sorry, and—”

“Shh,” she soothed him, arms tightening around his back in a soft squeeze as she planted a kiss on the crown of his head. “It’s all right. I’m completely over it.”

“But I—” He looked up at her to protest.

One fingertip landed on his full lower lip, silencing him. “I know,” she agreed. “A part of it was you. After what the Haunting made me say, you were angry and upset, and somewhere deep down inside some part of you probably _did_ want to kill me.”

He nodded, ashamed.

“I think that was how the Haunting toyed with us,” she said reassuringly. “It did the same thing to me. It took all my darker thoughts and feelings, and it…magnified them somehow. Like, they suddenly consumed me, and I couldn’t…” She stroked his cheek softly. “I couldn’t tell you how much I loved you, no matter how hard I tried.”

“My love,” he agreed, his voice barely a whisper. “I… I’m not like that,” he finally concluded helplessly.

“And I’m not, either,” she insisted. “Back when…” She had to take a deep breath to continue that sentence, but she forced it out anyway. “Back in that alley,” she tried again, “what happened was…”

He hushed her. “I know. Saw the worst of you that night. Didn’t like it, but it didn’t make me stop loving you, no matter how much I wanted to…”

“Yeah, well, that’s sort of how I see the you-trying-to-kill-me mess,” she informed him. “Yeah, it’s a dark part of you, but it’s still a part, and…nothing the Haunting brought out in you could ever make me stop loving you, either.”

A wry chuckle escaped his lips. “God, we’re warped.”

“Yup,” she agreed with a smile, popping the ‘P’, “but we’re pretty good when we’re warped together.”

“The best,” he agreed fervently, lips venturing to press against her brow.

Her eyelids fluttered shut, and she smiled. “So, here’s the deal,” she concluded. “You don’t hit me anymore, and I don’t hit you anymore, and instead we both screw each other silly.”

He laughed aloud at that, his face lighting up with the force of his smile and little crinkles forming at the edges of his eyes. Buffy giggled as well, still fascinated with watching him laugh. It was still a novelty to her, something unusual and a bit alien, but beautiful nonetheless.

“What?” he asked curiously, head tilted to one side when he noticed her studying him.

“You’re beautiful when you’re happy,” she said simply, finally venturing to close the distance between them and plant her lips on his.

Their eyes both remained open for a second, each intent on remembering the other’s appearance in this moment, before Spike’s long eyelashes finally fluttered closed and he gave himself over to making love to her lips.

Buffy moaned at the soft little nibbles he graced her lips with, shutting her eyes as well. His hand came around to cradle the back of her head, holding her in place as he poured his passion into her mouth. Eagerly, she parted her lips against him, inviting him inside her. He took her up on her offer almost instantly, and the two began a slow, sensual dance.

Her hands fell to his waist, sliding up the fabric of his black t-shirt before they slipped beneath to feel the cool flesh on the bump of each vertebra.

He purred at the touch, amazed as always at how she uncovered the places on his body that brought him the most pleasure. His fingers moved to her neck in response, an odd mockery of their battle before, but this time instead of inflicting pain, he inflicted pleasure. His fingertips danced over her scar, allowing them brief catches of each other’s thoughts as they moved together.

 _Love you._

 _Love you, too._

 _Never wanted to hurt you._

 _Missed you so much when you were gone._

 _Wish I_ couldn’t _hurt you still. Actually wish I had the sodding chip._

 _You don’t need it._

 _I’m afraid._

 _You don’t need to be. I know you’re a good man._

 _Do you also know that I’ll never leave you?_

 _It’s part of why I love you._

 _It’s part of why_ I _love_ you _._

 _I want to feel you._

 _I want to…_

A knock at the door.

They pulled apart with a gasp for air. “Bugger,” Spike grumbled. “That’ll be your food.”

“Okay, bad timing with the interrupting the nice kissage, but good timing with the tummy growling,” Buffy sighed, lying back down against the covers.

He rose to answer the door. “Old Spike’ll fix that,” he teased lightly.

“With his crafty calling-room-service skills?” she countered sarcastically.

He huffed. “’m under-appreciated is what I am,” he retorted good-naturedly.

She smiled softly and watched him reach for the doorknob. “Promise me something first,” she interjected abruptly.

He paused at the sound of the second knock. “Yeah?” he asked curiously.

“Promise me that the Haunting’s gone,” she insisted. “Promise me that from now on, whatever happens between us is just between us, that we don’t allow anything but ourselves to factor into the matter again.”

It was a terrifying prospect, and they both knew it. Just the two of them, no supernatural excuses or telepathic incursions to blame, just raw feelings, working things out together.

“All right, pet,” he agreed, softly opening the door.

Small smiles curved both their lips. It was a terrifying prospect, true, but exhilarating at the same time…

* * *

“It’s always been a part of me I’ve tried to deny,” Dawn finally admitted softly, curling her sated, naked body into that of the man beside her.

“Because it hurt so many people you care about?” Rick inquired, looking down at her with red, demonic eyes. It still astounded him that she could look right into his eyes and smile, as if they were something beautiful, something he didn’t need to be ashamed of…

She nodded softly. “I-I never thought… Why do you think the Key protected us?” she asked the question that had been puzzling her ever since it had first been revealed to her.

“An opposing magical force of some sort, I can only suppose,” Rick countered with a shrug.

“But why now?” she demanded. “Why have I lived all these years without the slightest sign that I’m something other than human, and then…” She trailed off with a frustrated sigh.

“We certainly needed its help,” Rick countered. “Without its power, we would have perished.”

“I’m not sure whether to be glad it saved us or pissed that it had to remind me about all of this crap,” Dawn commented, playing absentmindedly with one flat, darkened male nipple.

He pressed a soft kiss to her silky hair. “Be glad,” he advised her. “We are still here, together, and the Haunting is finally gone.”

“Yeah, but being made up of a power just like the Haunting tends to rain on the parade a bit,” she countered.

“Perhaps,” he commented, “or perhaps…”

“What?” she asked, looking up at him curiously.

“Your power did not seem the same as the Haunting’s so much as…opposite,” he explained.

“How so?”

“They seemed to clash, like two opposite forces repelling each other,” he clarified.

She thought upon that for a minute. “The Key has the power to destroy worlds…”

“But that does not mean that that is what it is,” Rick countered. “In fact, to me—” he cut off abruptly.

Dawn cocked her head at him curiously. “What?” she demanded with a little smile.

“To me,” he began slowly, “the Haunting was anger, despair, hatred. But the Key in you…it is everything opposite: joy, hope, love…” His cheeks flushed slightly. “To me, at least,” he mumbled, embarrassed.

A smile slowly lit up her face, and she reached up to press her lips to his. “You’re the most wonderful man I’ve met,” she concluded.

“And you are the most wonderful woman I have met,” he agreed, his accent thick with emotion, “human or no.”

“Human or no,” Dawn agreed before kissing him once more…

* * *

“I’m perfectly capable of eating by myself,” Buffy giggled, nibbling at the apple slice between his fingers anyway.

“Yeah, but you got to play nursemaid to me,” he countered. “’S my turn now.”

“Ooh, nursemaid,” she teased. “Does this mean I get to see you in one of those cute little white uniforms with the miniskirt?”

He scowled at her. “Ha-bloody-ha,” he retorted, placing another apple slice between her lips to silence her.

She munched on it, amused.

“’Sides,” he added with a little leer, “’m not wearing a thing until you do.”

She frowned at the ultimatum and pushed the food tray aside. “Be careful, or I’ll hold you up to that promise,” she joked.

“Be careful, or ‘ll _keep_ that promise,” he teased right back, taking advantage of the fact that the tray was no longer between them to nip gently at her shoulder.

“You’re really annoying, you know that?” she demanded, settling back down into his arms once more. This felt nice – quipping and teasing each other once more, only this time while touching and kissing as well… She suddenly couldn’t imagine why she hadn’t done this long ago.

“Yeah, but you love me,” he shot back, fingers sliding the fabric of her blouse down to better facilitate his mouth. “And you don’t love the Gel King,” he added in obvious delight. “Common sense, really. Any smart bird would realize that—”

She groaned, cutting him off. “I can already see that I shouldn’t have told you about the Angel thing,” she complained. “Just what I need: an out of control vampire ego.”

“Y’know,” he went on, completely ignoring her complaint, “I normally wouldn’t condone that poofter touchin’ my girl, but ‘s a pity really that you didn’t get a chance to scream out my name at some opportune time.” He lay back and sighed at the pleasant thought.

She scowled at him. “So I love you. Not Angel. We get the picture already. And we’re starting to wonder exactly why I love you in the first place.”

His expression softened, and he nibbled her ear apologetically. “Sorry ‘bout that, kitten. ‘S just that…no one’s ever chosen _me_ , y’know?” There was an embarrassed vulnerability in his voice, as if even confessing these emotions to her was a strain given his normal cool persona.

“Yeah, well, I do,” she insisted, fingers curling into his platinum spiky hair. “It took me a really long time to realize it, but…” She shrugged.

“Picked a bloody good time to figure it out, though,” he countered with a smirk.

“Yeah, well… I guess I could delude myself into thinking that I really wanted Angel, until I got smacked in the face with it,” she concluded. “Some part of me found it easier to cling to the impossible rather than admit that I’d driven away the man I loved.”

“You didn’t drive me away,” he insisted. “I-I went because Dawn needed me to…and maybe I think we both needed me to go, too.” A gulp and one of those bobs of his Adam’s Apple that Buffy found so mesmerizing. “Never really lost me, though.”

Her lips came to rest on the fascinating feature, and her tongue played lightly along the column of his throat. She smiled at the purr that escaped his chest, rich and deep and sending delightful tinglies all the way down to her toes. “It felt like I lost you,” she countered. “Like I’d finally blown it and was all alone.”

“I…” he trailed off abruptly. “C’mere, luv,” he said insisted, pulling her body atop his and holding her close. It seemed like no matter how intimate the two of them got, it was never enough for him. Like it really _would_ take an eternity for him to grow tired of her…

“What were you going to say?” she inquired softly.

He gulped. “Shouldn’t say this,” he muttered half to himself.

“You can tell me anything,” she encouraged him.

He let out a weary sigh. “Kinda had this foolish hope for a while.” His voice was barely a whisper, and he was playing with the hem of her blouse so that he didn’t have to look into her eyes. “After I left, I mean. Thought that maybe you’d realize that I meant something to you after all, and…” He trailed off abruptly.

Buffy’s eyes widened. _Spike_ getting choked up? With tears in his eyes? Fighting them back? “Shh, now,” she quickly turned to comfort him. “You don’t have to—”

He persisted doggedly, the mere challenge that this was too difficult for him to handle spurring him on. “Had this fantasy…that maybe you’d come after me.”

Buffy froze at that, tears stinging her own eyes. “I’m sorry,” she whispered against his hair. “If it helps at all, I did realize…but it was years too late by then, baby.”

“’S nothing,” he insisted, trying to brush it off, affecting the Big Bad persona once more.

His fallback defense. Buffy came to see that more and more clearly. “No, it is,” she insisted. “And I wish I could have found you, but… Well, at least, we met up here.”

He scoffed. “Yeah, ‘cause the bleedin’ Haunting wanted to use you to fuck me over.”

Buffy frowned at that. “You’re kidding?” she asked hopefully.

“Soddin’ witch that ran the place brought us all together solely for that farce,” he informed her of some of what she’d missed.

“And here I thought it was fate. That’s kind of a downer.”

“Tell me about it,” he agreed. “When I saw you in that lobby…” He trailed off, embarrassed once more.

“You thought I’d finally come for you?” Buffy ventured softly.

“Was silly,” he insisted.

“No, you weren’t,” she countered vehemently. “Spike, I didn’t know where to find you, but…” She scanned the motel room around them and spotted her bag in the corner. “Let me show you something,” she insisted, getting up off the bed on shaky legs and padding over to the suitcase. She quickly found the small tin box she was looking for and returned with it to the bed. “I found you the only way I could,” she said simply before a sly smile crossed her face. “Just to show that you’re not the only ‘pathetic wanker’ out there.”

He rolled his eyes at her hideous accent and opened the box curiously. “ _You’re_ the one that stole my lighter!” he exclaimed in instant outrage, plucking the Zippo from the box.

“What?” she retorted. “You got your souvenirs, but I couldn’t get mine?”

He merely chuckled and flicked it on. “Been looking for this for seven years.” He shook his head.

“Yeah, well, that’s how long I was looking for its owner,” she added softly.

He grinned at her and plucked out two sheets of paper from the box. The first a photo of him but half from the back and obviously not intentional. He quirked an eyebrow at her.

“It was the only one I could find,” she said defensively. “Either Dawn took all the good ones, or…” She didn’t like the other option, that there were none.

“Bit stole ‘em,” he assured her quickly. He unfolded the other sheet of paper to recognize his own scrawling script:

    _Meet me by Aldridge Memorial. A gang of Vreleks in town. Should be a good tussle._

And then, beneath it, in an increasingly illegible script as if he’d steeled himself up before rushing through and writing it:

    _You make me feel so good. ~William_

She blushed slightly. “It was the closest thing to a love letter I ever got,” she admitted sheepishly.

He tisked slightly. “We’ll hafta fix that,” he concluded, putting the box aside. The final item – a silver ring with a skull’s face on it – was a matter for another time. “Girl like you deserves flowers, poncy poetry…”

“I thought you’d given up the poncy poetry,” she countered.

“Yeah, well, we’ll just hafta settle for gettin’ naked,” he concluded. “Guess we’re not exactly memorabilia kinda people.”

“I’d noticed,” Buffy agreed, gesturing to the half-empty box. “And…” a blush, “were you serious about the naked part?”

A moment of hesitation. “You serious?” he countered, head cocked to one side.

An uncharacteristically shy smile. “Well, there are two possibilities I can think of,” she began. “We put it off and turn it into this huge deal and second-guess each other the entire time. Or we do what we want and just don’t worry about the rest of it.” Her fingers trailed down to his belt. “So?” she demanded.

He gulped. “Yeah, luv,” he agreed. “Prove that what happened before with the Hauntin’ was a fluke and…”

“It was,” she assured him, hands turning to her own clothes and slowly disrobing.

He watched her for a minute before taking his cue and removing he own t-shirt and jeans. There was an unusual calmness between the two of them as they watched each other, a sure knowledge as they glanced upon naked skin that they finally didn’t have to rush their way through this. It wasn’t going to be a wild, desperate act this time but merely the extension of what they’d been doing so far – connection not only on the verbal level now, but the physical as well.

They met at the center of the bed, each lying on their sides, facing each other. Limbs slid together naturally as he slipped inside her, a quick gasp from each at the union. The usual powerful thrusts were absent this time, however, as their bodies just rocked in slow time together, hands caressing flesh softly as they whispered sweet words between them.

“I feel like I failed you, you know,” Buffy murmured against his lips, breathing deeply and letting her own biorhythms guide him within her.

“Could never fail me,” he assured her, blunt teeth nibbling at her shoulder. His mouth arrived at his mark, and he covered it, making their meeting of minds a literal reality. _Love you too much for that._

 _I should’ve fought the Haunting off_ , she countered with a sigh. _You drove it out. I’m supposed to be stronger than that. I’m the Slayer…_

 _And I’m supposed to know you better than anyone_ , he retorted. _So how come I couldn’t tell that it was the Haunting and not you saying all that rot? You spotted it right off. If anything, I failed you…_

She held him tighter, squeezed her internal muscles around him and made him gasp. _Don’t worry_ , she insisted. _Just make love to me._

He couldn’t argue with that and let his thoughts drift, occasionally picking up a hint of love from her mind, but not dwelling on any of it, just savoring being this close to her.

 _Do you think we could just be like this tonight?_ His mental voice sounded hesitant.

 _Yeah_ , she agreed. _Let’s just be together._

 _For how long?_

 _As long as we can._


	33. Wake

“You awake, luv?”

The purr in her ear brought Buffy back to the world of the living, and she let out a little groan. “Sleeping. G’way.”

Spike chuckled and sidled up against her back, spooning her tiny body with his larger one. “Hafta get going soon,” he informed her apologetically.

“Fine,” she insisted grumpily. “Wake me then.”

“That confirms it,” Spike decided with a sigh, nibbling lightly on her shoulder. “You just _are_ bitchy the mornin’ after.” There was a smile on his face as he said it, though.

Except for the three occasions where they’d ventured from their comfy motel room to join Rick and Dawn for meals, they’d been sequestered away together for two days now, holding each other, talking occasionally, and making love. Waking up with Sex!Kitten!Buffy in his arms two mornings in a row had calmed his fears a bit about the genuineness of her feelings for him.

That, and the fact that even when he’d been possessed and trying to kill her, she hadn’t reached for that stake once. It filled him with an odd sense of peace to know that even when he was at his worst, she saw enough of a man in him that she hadn’t resorted to slaying. He’d felt trust and love like that in himself before, but never had similar emotions been directed back at him. That knowledge quenched most of his fears and doubts.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she added anyway, snuggling back down into the pillow. “Just need sleep.”

“Wore you all out, did I?” he asked cockily, long tongue rolling over his teeth in a lascivious manner.

“Hush,” she insisted. “Sleeping.”

A wicked smile curved his lips as he pressed his nude body fully against hers, the full length of his rock-hard erection rubbing deliciously against her ass.

Buffy’s eyes abruptly opened, suddenly wide awake at the feel of Fully!Aroused!Spike behind her. She moved to turn in his arms, but he held her in place, tisking lightly.

“You need your rest, luv,” he reminded her with a cheeky grin.

“But—” she began.

“Go back to sleep,” he instructed. “I can have my play time without you.”

“Don’t wanna sleep,” she countered.

“Just said you did,” he retorted, gentle fingers coming to rest on her eyes and pushing the lids closed. “Now sleep.” He lifted up one of her legs and pulled it back over his hip before thrusting inside of her.

“God, Spike…” she whimpered at the feel of him sheathed within her.

“Sorry, pet, am I distractin’ you?” he teased mercilessly. “Keepin’ you up?” He began to move within her, deep, slow thrusts right to her core.

“Evil vampire,” Buffy concluded with a dreamy sigh, leaning back into his embrace and savoring the pleasure their bodies brought each other…

* * *

“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust…”

With a solemn nod, the ceremony ended and the priest and Laura’s Danvers attorney turned from the site of the small funeral. The only attendee of the funeral walked up the small slope to where the two observers stood. “Mister Summers,” Simon Whitteborn addressed Spike in a crisp manner, “I will need to discuss our business arrangements with your employer.”

Spike started to at that, his gaze drifting back down to the freshly-packed earth with an almost nostalgic look. “Not a good time,” he said gruffly. “We’ve got our own funeral goin’ on as well.”

Simon Whitteborn nodded curtly. “I’m sure you’ll agree that given the complications of contract arising from Ms. Danvers’ death that the award money would be quite inappropriate for—”

“You’re gonna rip us off?” Buffy exclaimed in astonished outrage. “After all that happened?”

Spike’s calming hand came to rest on her shoulder. “Leave it be, luv,” he assured her before turning narrowed eyes to the attorney. “You’ll be wantin’ to talk with our accountant, Sigrid Jacobsen.” He let a hint of gold flash through his eyes, causing the other man to yelp. “And given how your ‘supervision’ seemed to be from halfway ‘round the world, I wouldn’t make any assumptions ‘bout the ‘complications’ we had to go through.” He caught hold of Buffy’s arm and led her away in mild protest.

“The nerve of that guy,” she muttered angrily.

“Weren’t prepared to pay us in the first place, ‘m sure,” he countered. “We were all s’posed to die, remember?”

“And I can’t even kill him,” Buffy grumbled.

“Just leave ‘im to Siggy,” he assured her. “He’ll be our cheap slave for life once she has her way.” He came to a halt in front of the recently erected tombstone, studying the effect curiously.

“They spell her name wrong or what?” Buffy demanded, eyeing the gray marker intently.

“Strange is all,” he shrugged. “All this time she was…”

“Yeah.” Buffy shuddered inwardly. She _so_ hadn’t needed to hear that Spike had boinked the decrepit old lady. Of course, she realized that Laura Danvers hadn’t been old or decrepit at the time. In fact, she’d probably been young and beautiful, and… Okay, so that wasn’t a happy thought, either. But the notion that the woman buried here was once been Spike’s lover…definitely wig-worthy. “You remember her?” she ventured to ask cautiously.

He sighed. “Not really,” he admitted. “Was a bit caught up with…” He trailed off abruptly.

She sighed inwardly, not wanting to say the words aloud, either. They were quite a pair, really, the two of them. She’d once envied his ability to speak about his emotions, his openness, but she was fast learning that he wasn’t so different from her in this regard. His affection for her – and even Dawn and Siggy – was made clear, but the more complicated stuff… He really was quite devoted to the image he’d affected for himself and often hid behind it in times like these.

She slipped her hand into his, twining their fingers lazily together as they stood there side-by-side, shoulders barely brushing. It was a strange sort of subtle solidarity that existed between them, but powerful nonetheless.

“You thinkin’ about your own grave?” he asked quietly.

“A little,” she admitted hesitantly. “You?”

He shrugged. “Was a long time ago. It fades over time.”

“You’re right,” she agreed. “It does.”

His hand gave hers a light squeeze. “She seemed…kind.” His brow furrowed as he struggled to remember the one night he’d known the dead woman before the Haunting had consumed her. “I needed comfortin’ and she…” He left off again.

“Well then, I’m grateful,” Buffy concluded, holding his hand between both of hers now and warming the chill flesh with her heat.

“Not homicidal?” he teased lightly.

“She’s already dead,” Buffy countered.

A wry smile lifted the corners of his lips. “Could’ve been me,” he commented. “If the Hauntin’ had tried to take me then…”

“Shh,” Buffy soothed, “it wasn’t you. Another thing I’m grateful for.”

Spike nodded and turned away from the grave. “You done?” he inquired, one eyebrow raised and hand now gesturing for them to depart.

Buffy studied him for a moment, then. The blizzards had given them a short reprieve, but the sky was still cloudy with the occasional flurry fluttering to the ground. The cloud-cover was enough for him to walk outdoors in the daylight, though. The soft white light that fell upon the earth illuminated his features enough that, for once, every wrinkle and imperfection was visible to her. At that moment he appeared not as a creature of the night, wrapped in the embrace of the moon’s silver light, but a man. Just an ordinary man who had been hurt every bit as often as she had, who still held himself back at times, fearing the pain and rejection.

She managed a soft smile. This was the closest she would ever come to seeing him in the sun, but perhaps the light flattered him all the same. Just as, she was forced to admit now, the dark sometimes flattered her. But they both fit best in between, together, neither really in one world and…

“Hello? Slayer?” Spike waved one hand in front of her face. “You still in there?”

She batted his hand away in irritation and proceeded him up the snow-packed path that led back to where the rest of their party was waiting. “Ruin my moody, poetic introspection, why don’t you?” she countered with good humor.

“’Bout what?” he asked curiously.

She smiled and stood up on her tiptoes to brush a gentle kiss across his lips…

* * *

“You know,” Dawn commented to Rick and Siggy as they watched the blond pair in the graveyard, “after my mom died I had these fantasies. Buffy and Spike would get together, and then I’d have a surrogate mom and dad, and we’d all live happily ever after.”

Rick smiled. “You do not still feel the same way?” he inquired.

“My attitude now is more like, ‘Heh, I hope those crazy kids manage to work it out’,” she agreed with a frown. “When did I become the grown-up one?”

Siggy managed a smile at that. “It is not difficult with Spike,” she assured her friend.

“Or my sister,” Dawn agreed, getting up from off of the hood of the car as her sister and pseudo-brother finally ended their kiss and began walking up the hill. “Are we ready to go now?” she demanded of the two of them as they approached.

A slight blush tinged Buffy’s cheeks when she realized that she and Spike had had an audience. “Eustacia Collins is put to rest?” she asked softly.

Siggy nodded glumly. “Her nephew was quite distraught,” she agreed. “But at least she finally managed to banish the evil that had tainted her life.”

Buffy grimaced as they walked down the road to where Siggy had parked Dawn’s beat-up Chevy. “Guess she was right about the helping us getting her killed part.”

“A sobering thought,” Dawn agreed, coming to a halt outside her car.

Veronica sat in the passenger’s seat, warming her hands on the vent where the engine had been left on. The redhead had insisted on attending Eustacia Collins’ funeral after having witnessed the woman’s death. A glance at where Xel and Lena lay buried together had quickly caused her to retreat back from the rest of the group, however.

“You sure you don’t want company gettin’ her back home?” Spike asked Siggy.

“The airport is not too far out of my way,” Siggy shook her head.

“Wasn’t talkin’ ‘bout the distance, sugar,” he countered, cocking his head to one side as he studied Veronica. Any residual anger he might’ve felt at the stunt that she had pulled in his bedroom had long since evaporated with the subsequent disasters.

“The company is not so bad, either,” Siggy assured her. “In a way, I see it as my duty to help her through this difficult time.”

“Got her brother back home for that,” he retorted.

“Then for whatever time I can offer her comfort,” Siggy amended, giving the vampire a quick hug for this temporary good-bye.

“You know,” Buffy said, taking her own hug in turn, “there’s this guy you absolutely _have_ to meet. His name’s Holden Webster, and you two _really_ have a lot in common.” She smiled at the blond.

“Perhaps I will stop by Sunnydale before I go home and meet him,” Siggy countered with a soft smile of her own. She turned to Dawn and Rick, offering them each quick hugs in return before she got into the car and pulled off with a squeal of tires.

Spike flinched. “That monster actually drove my baby,” he whimpered, patting the hood of his black BMW affectionately.

Buffy patted his back through his recently re-patched black duster. “I’m sure she’ll be all right with a little TLC,” she teased softly.

He held up his nose in a mock-offended manner, leaving it to the women to make all the mushy good-byes and such.

“So, we’ll see you back in New York soon, am I right?” Dawn said with a little grin.

Buffy nodded, a small smile lighting her features at finally leaving behind the town that had become like a graveyard to her. “Soon as I get the house cleaned out and on the market and all that. I’m currently still on Christmas vacation from work, so I should just be able to give my notice and…” She shrugged.

“It’ll be nice to have you living close again,” Dawn agreed. “And if you ever decide that administration’s not for you…” She trailed off with an evil grin.

“Why do I have the feeling that a certain sneaky _someone_ is going to sabotage my job search in order to force me to work as her personal slave labor?” Buffy countered, giving her sister a long hug.

Dawn shut her eyes and smiled, hugging her sister back. “Oh, c’mon, it’s the job you were born to take. And I can promise you’ll have a cute partner.” She winked at Spike over Buffy’s shoulder.

“’m _not_ ‘cute’,” he grumbled, sulking against the driver’s side door of his car.

“Denial,” Buffy whispered in Dawn’s ear. “So sad.”

“Heard that,” he informed her.

Buffy pulled back from hugging Dawn and gave him an unashamed look. “So, it’ll be maybe three weeks,” she informed her sister. “A month, tops.”

“Welcome to the Dark Side,” Dawn countered, “er, I mean, the Big Apple.”

Buffy rolled her eyes. “Remind me why I’m moving all the way across the country to be closer to my annoying sister, again?”

“Because of the sexy vampire I’ve got working for me,” Dawn teased. “That, and we can do the girl-talk thing. Like, how about telling me what moisturizer you use that you still look _my_ age?”

“All right, so I’ll come,” Buffy pretended to be re-convinced. “And, as for the moisturizer thing… Tough luck, it’s a Slayer youth thing.”

Dawn pouted for a second, looking for all the world like the sulky teenager she’d once been. “So you get the super-strength, the fast healing, _and_ the youthful good looks? And all I get is some glowy force field? Have I mentioned lately how unfair that is?”

“I need the extra years more than you do,” Buffy countered, turning back to Spike and slipping a casual arm around his waist. “After all, I’ve got a lot of time to make up for…”

“The clever talkin’ about me while ‘m right here stopped bein’ cute a while back,” Spike informed her, irritated. His tone was light and un-offended, however, and he didn’t pull away from her loose embrace.

Dawn grinned at her surrogate big brother. “So, we’ll drive back and meet you at the office?” she inquired, giving him a quick, awkward hug to minimize the tarnish to his Big Bad image.

“Right,” he nodded, ducking his head nonetheless.

Rick stepped forward to offer Buffy a quick, embarrassed hug as well, only to be stopped from pulling away by Spike’s hand on his wrist.

Spike sniffed the air as if trying to detect something before fixing Rick with a menacing look. “Wound on your arm’s opened up again, Kayeri,” he informed the younger man, releasing him before climbing into his car and slamming the door shut.

Buffy shrugged and got in the passenger side as well.

“What was that?” Rick asked curiously, watching them drive off.

“Spike going easy on you,” Dawn informed him. “He’s decided that you got injured enough defending me that he doesn’t have to hate you. Completely.”

Rick grinned at that as the two of them returned to his own car. “I should be honored, I assume?” he inquired.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Dawn assured him. “I doubt Spike’s benevolence will last more than a week.”

“I take it this is why you have managed to go so long without a boyfriend?” Rick countered, pulling out of the cemetery parking lot and onto the highway.

“That, and everyone else I’ve tried to date before was a bleeding wanker,” Dawn agreed with a quirk of her lips. She watched Rick flick on the turn signal back to the motel. “We don’t need to head back there, do we?” she inquired.

Rick looked at her in surprise. “I thought we were planning to leave when Spike did,” he questioned.

A wistful smile crossed Dawn’s face. “Something tells me Spike’s going to make a little detour through Sunnydale for the next three to four weeks,” she informed him.

“He said…”

“Yeah, he says a lot of things,” Dawn agreed, “but he knows I know how to read between the lines.”

Rick turned back onto the highway then, heading east along 35. “Home, then?” he inquired with a small smile.

“Home,” Dawn agreed, grinning as well, “and I can’t wait to show it to you…”

* * *

“’Bout that rental you got,” Spike began the instant they pulled out. “Was thinkin’ maybe you could turn that back into the agency here, save yourself some cash.”

Buffy gave him a curious look. “And how would I be getting back to Sunnydale then?” she asked pointedly.

“I could offer you a lift,” he said in the most disinterested voice he could manage.

“And that wouldn’t interfere with you getting back to your job?” she demanded.

Spike plucked out a cigarette from his jacket pocket, lighting it up with the silver Zippo he’d reacquired and opening the window a crack so the smoke didn’t blow in her direction. “Bit’s groomin’ _Rrrrricardo_ to replace me right now,” he sulked.

If nothing else, at least Lena’s trilled ‘R’s would live on in remembrance of the D’vorak Demon.

“’Sides,” he countered, “Dawn’s a smart girl. Knows perfectly well that ‘ll head back to NYC when you do.” He ventured to look sideways at her at that. “We’re together, right?”

The question was meant rhetorically. Buffy answered it anyway, though. “Right,” she agreed, resting one hand on his knee.

He glanced down at it before turning his attention back to the road. “Liable to be quite a driving distraction there, pet,” he pointed out.

“Humph,” she sulked, giving his knee one last pat before settling back in her seat. “What happened to the DeSoto, anyway?” she asked curiously. “It had that nice, wide front seat to facilitate snuggling.”

A small smile quirked at the corners of his lips. “Sold it,” he provided. “Summer you were…gone.” He practically mumbled over the word as if thought of the time when she had been dead still brought him pain. “Needed some cash for the Bit, and a collector was interested.”

She sighed. “I still feel like I know nothing about you,” she confessed. “I know that’s not quite accurate, but…”

“Road trip’s a good time to fill in the pointless details,” he supplied.

She smiled at that. That was exactly what she wanted: the pointless details. She’d had the drama and the sex and the crossed stars, and now she just wanted the boring details. Day to day stuff. Just what was day to day Spike like, anyway?

“I think I’m falling in love with you all over again,” she whispered, a tear in her eye.

“Don’t go soft on me now, Slayer,” he said lightly, turning to favor her with that sweet smile of his. “Love you, too,” he added tenderly, reaching over to wrap his free arm around the back of her seat, inviting her to lean back against it.

Buffy sighed and tried to reconcile the man who was being so gentle with her to the vampire she’d fought that fateful night when the Haunting had finally been banished forever. It was hard to imagine that someone so strong could still be so tender. She thought that maybe she was the only other person in the world that _could_ understand, because she was the same way. “Never,” she promised him.

“You’ll need the edge if you’re gonna put up with me,” he sighed, fingers playing lightly with a strand of her golden hair.

“Oh?” she inquired pointedly.

“Dangerous unchipped vampire, evil temptations, all that rot,” he responded, eyes fixed on the road ahead as if the secrets of the universe itself were written in the yellow center lines.

“I don’t think you’re dangerous or evil,” she countered.

“Oi!” he exclaimed, eyes wide in outrage. “You take that back!”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “Spike, c’mon, you’re _so_ not.”

“Got the chip out,” he grumbled. “Could go on a killin’ spree if I didn’t still get the headaches.”

Her lips pressed together in a line, and she let out a deep breath. “You don’t have to do that, you know,” she commented thoughtfully.

“What?” he demanded, still sulking slightly.

“The fake chip zap thing. Siggy explained to me all about it. You know you don’t need it, right?” she questioned softly.

“Dunno what you’re talking about,” he insisted vehemently.

Buffy sighed when she realized she’d come to another one of those walls Spike had set up to protect himself. She decided not to push it for now. She had all the time in the world to convince him that he himself was a good man and didn’t need the excuse to hold him back anymore. And that the Big Bad in him didn’t have to be ashamed that he’d found something more important in life than the thrill of killing.

“Sorry,” he murmured belatedly, “’m kinda screwed up.”

“It’s all right,” she assured him. “I get that.” She caught his hand at her shoulder, intentionally guiding it back over to the scar at her throat.

His thumb rubbed the mark in slow, sensual circles, enjoying the feel of connection between them. “You know, luv,” he began, “one of these days we might actually both be uninjured enough that I can bite you right and proper.”

“There’s a right and proper way to bite?” Buffy asked skeptically.

His tongue flicked up beneath his teeth, and he favored her with a little leer. “Oh yeah…” he moaned in a husky voice.

Buffy’s cheeks reddened. “Oh, _that_ kind of ‘right and proper’…” A smile. “You know, most people would probably say ‘warped and kinky’ or something like that.”

He snorted. “’ll have you know that ‘s perfectly normal an’ acceptable among vampires.”

“Oh really?” she said with a frown. “Does that mean you’ve been biting people ‘right and proper’ all these years, then?” she demanded.

“Normal an’ acceptable among vampire _mates_ ,” he corrected, flicking his thumbnail over his mark. “Haven’t bit anyone like that since…well, Dru.”

“Oh.” A gulp. “I don’t suppose we could book the motel room for another couple of days and…” She trailed off suggestively.

“Or we could start off on the road an’ see when things happen,” he countered with a grin. “Gettin’ there’s half the fun after all.”

“Is it?” she inquired curiously.

She knew the odds. A Slayer and a soulless Vampire, working together, as friends and lovers… The odds against it were mind-boggling. She was half-convinced that he was the only vampire in the world that had a chance of making it work. But those thoughts didn’t fill her with fear anymore, just a grim determination to make this work. And a calm settled over her at the thought that, after all they’d been through, they deserved for everything to turn out all right for once.

A gentle smile lit up his face as he looked at her, the contact of their skin letting him know exactly what she was feeling. They were both starting to realize what a blessing that connection really was, especially given that emotional words came to them with such difficulty.

“We’ll make it fun,” Spike finally concluded.

And ahead of them, the open road stretched ever on, twisting and turning through the wooden mountains, leaving their haunted past far behind them.


End file.
